Chapter 134: Single Rider to Save the Lord

Ma Wu’s dance hall opened, and Chu Huaiyuan came specially to congratulate; Li Banfeng stood in a corner, quietly observing the appearance of this Second Miss Chu.

Deep-set eyes, high nose bridge, slightly large mouth, thick red lips, round face with no sharp angles.

Skin tone was impossible to judge—too much powder caked on her face; her gaze was elusive, radiating a sinister aura beneath heavy eyeshadow.

The dance began, accompanied by the waltz rhythm; guests took up dance partners and started moving.

Playing this waltz was purely for atmosphere—most guests were villagers from Lan Yang Village, and few knew how to dance.

The dance girls were all hired from the village, trained for only two days—they couldn’t possibly learn the waltz; everyone was just there to earn a meal, clinging together and stumbling through steps, and no one cared—but Second Miss Chu felt her scalp crawl.

A lady of refinement couldn’t endure this.

“Young Master Wu, this place is truly unsuitable for you.”

Ma Wu smiled faintly but said nothing.

Chu Huaiyuan extended her hand: “Dance with me.”

A gentleman should not refuse a lady’s invitation.

But Ma Wu did not want to dance with Chu Huaiyuan—he wanted no contact with her at all.

He was afraid.

He had heard about Liu Changyu’s fate.

News of Second Miss Chu’s brutal defeat of mountain bandits had already been printed.

Liu Changyu’s skin had been peeled off and preserved by Second Miss Chu, steeped in a bottle of wine as a trophy.

“Forgive me, Second Miss, my leg is injured,” Ma Wu touched his cheek—he would not dance with her under any circumstances.

Chu Er curled her red lips: “I saw you walking briskly while greeting guests just now.”

Ma Wu explained: “I was forcing myself—I’ve had a bad injury on my right leg for days, swollen beyond recognition; I simply cannot dance.”

Chu Er stopped pressing, her gaze shifting to Li Banfeng.

As a third-layer Zhai Xiu, almost no one in the hall noticed Li Banfeng.

But after Da Zhi Guai Wen Hongyan whispered a reminder to Chu Er, she sensed this man in the hat held some unusual significance—even Ma Wu paid him special attention.

Chu Huaiyuan approached Li Banfeng with a faint smile: “Sir, may I have this dance?”

Li Banfeng shook his head slightly: “I don’t know how to dance.”

“Dancing is simple—I’ll teach you.”

Li Banfeng gave a deep smile and refused her invitation again.

Teach me to dance, then accuse me of taking liberties, then demand my grease money.

Do you think I’ll fall for it? I’ve been burned before!

Chu Er lost her composure.

In this absurd dance hall, being rejected twice in a row—where could she save face?

Without further ado, Chu Er seized Li Banfeng’s hand and dragged him into the dance floor.

How could this woman be so forceful?

Had it not been for the auspicious occasion, Li Banfeng would have flipped his lid—he couldn’t tolerate extortion.

But it was an opening day; one must uphold good fortune. He suppressed his anger—but he would give not a single coin of grease money.

In truth, he had learned some dance steps at the Xianle Dance Hall, and with his Lv Xiu’s solid footwork, his dancing was surprisingly decent.

As the music played, Chu Er spun around and moved directly before the photographer.

Trouble—the photographer is about to take a picture!

Why did Chu Er carry a photographer with her?

Under current circumstances, being photographed was one of Li Banfeng’s greatest taboos.

Li Banfeng suddenly lowered his head, his wrist sliding down to grip hard beneath Chu Er’s waist.

The photographer failed to press the shutter—this scene was inappropriate.

Chu Er gasped: “How bold you are!”

Li Banfeng remained calm: “Since you’re going to demand grease money anyway, I’ll take it first.”

Chu Er frowned: “What grease money?”

Li Banfeng gave a deep smile; beneath the brim of his hat, his eyes glinted with lethal intent.

Chu Er wasn’t fazed by the killing intent—she shifted her step and guided Li Banfeng back toward the photographer.

Li Banfeng, without mercy, twisted her buttock into a knot.

The scene was indecent—the photographer failed again.

Full-body shots were impossible; the photographer tried for a half-body shot, but Li Banfeng spun away, escaping the camera’s frame.

Chu Er looked surprised—as if the twist had been pleasant, and she wanted him to do it again; she drew Li Banfeng closer to the photographer once more.

Li Banfeng spun Chu Er in a circle, slamming her directly into the photographer—the man couldn’t dodge, the camera fell, shattered, and its film spilled out.

Chu Er grew furious and dragged Li Banfeng toward the phonograph.

The phonograph was expensive—must not be damaged; Li Banfeng changed direction mid-movement, sending Chu Er crashing into a hall pillar.

The impact was severe—Chu Er staggered, nearly falling.

Yang Yanzheng frowned; Da Zhi Guai Wen Hongyan licked her arm, ready to strike at any moment.

Li Banfeng sensed danger—his eyes grew even more lethal.

Chu Er signaled others not to move; the two resumed dancing in the center of the floor.

Ma Wu held his breath for Li Banfeng.

Li Banfeng was drenched in sweat.

Chu Er’s fingernails suddenly lengthened, tearing through fabric and digging into Li Banfeng’s flesh.

Li Banfeng executed another sweeping spin, slamming Chu Er into the pillar again.

Their movements were too swift for ordinary eyes—they only heard the pillar thudding repeatedly.

When the dance ended, Chu Er’s body was covered in bruises; Li Banfeng’s back was drenched in blood.

They bowed, then returned to their seats.

Wen Hongyan asked: “Miss, shall I kill that man?”

Chu Er rubbed the bruise on her shoulder: “It was just a dance—how exhilarating! No need to dwell on it.”

Li Banfeng drank a cup of wine, then rose and left the dance hall.

This wicked woman wasn’t just cruel—she’d poisoned me.

Li Banfeng felt a creeping itch and numbness along his spine—he hurried back to his quarters.

Inside, he stripped off his clothes, ready to have his wife heal him—when she suddenly roared: “Foolish man! Where did these claw marks on your back come from?”

Li Banfeng explained: “A woman clawed me.”

“Huh! So you admit it! These wounds run deep—obviously you gave her plenty of attention!”

Li Banfeng pointed to his back: “I’ve been poisoned.”

“You use poison? And pull off such tricks?”

Li Banfeng picked up his clothes: “My clothes are torn too.”

“Torn clothes…”

Clang clang clang~

The phonograph quieted, exhaling a puff of steam that caressed Li Banfeng’s back.

If only his clothes had been intact and only he was injured, this would be serious.

Now both his clothes and his skin were torn—proving he was wearing clothes when it happened.

Under the steam’s warmth, Li Banfeng sweated profusely; when the sweat dried, the itching vanished—the poison was fully neutralized.

Li Banfeng lay on the bed; his wounds rapidly scabbed over—Zhai Xiu recovery within the residence was astonishing.

The steam continued to gently stroke his spine; the phonograph sang softly: “That wicked woman is so cruel—let little slave handle her. Little slave will avenge Master.”

Li Banfeng snorted: “You want revenge—or a meal?”

“Huff~ Little slave cares so deeply for Master—how can Master mock me?”

The phonograph, wounded, used steam to lift Li Banfeng’s clothes and meticulously sew them.

Click click click!

With its sewing function integrated, the phonograph’s needle threaded quickly—mending at astonishing speed.

After mending, the phonograph asked: “By the way, that wicked woman must be human, right?”

“Of course she’s human—why do you ask?”

“Huh~ Jin Jing Qiu Hao discerns yin and yang; a hundred flavors hide at the tip of the nose. Master, you must’ve been dazzled by that woman and forgot your technique—there’s incense-qi clinging to you.”

“Really?”

Li Banfeng picked up the clothes and sniffed—the powder scent was overwhelming, yet upon closer inspection, there was indeed a faint trace of incense-qi.

How had he missed this?

It wasn’t carelessness—dance hall air was thick with smoke, alcohol, and powder, drowning out the incense-qi; he genuinely hadn’t noticed.

Could Chu Er be a ghost?

Unlikely.

Li Banfeng had always been wary of Chu Er—if she were a ghost, he would’ve seen ghostly fire.

…

The dance drew to a close; Chu Er rose to take her leave. Ma Wu had a carriage ready and escorted her to the village entrance, then returned to the dance hall to tally today’s expenses.

Seeing Chu Er and the others’ carriage vanish in the distance, Liu Liangyi appeared at the village entrance.

In his hand he held a stick of incense, its smoke curling gently, drifting all the way to Mengchun Garden.

In the dance hall, Ma Wu was tallying accounts; on the first day open, all guests were invited, and expenses were heavy.

As he reached a critical point in the ledger, he suddenly heard a dancer cry out: “What are you doing? Can’t you watch where you’re going?”

Looking toward the sound, a man had entered the hall and shoved the dancer off balance.

The man wore a horse-hair jacket and a round felt hat, his face covered by a scarf, obscuring his features.

Xiao Chuan stepped forward to help the dancer up and said to the man: “We’re closed. If you want to dance, come back tomorrow.”

The man said nothing, walking straight ahead.

Xiao Chuan frowned: “Can’t you understand me? We’re closed!”

The man suddenly drew his blade and swung it down at Xiao Chuan.

Xiao Chuan was a Gong Xiu, still without a realm, and froze in shock.

Ma Wu lunged forward, shoved Xiao Chuan aside, dodged the blade, and kicked the man hard.

Crack!

The man’s bones seemed to snap.

But it didn’t slow his attack—he raised his blade again and slashed at Ma Wu.

Ma Wu evaded calmly; others rushed to help, but Ma Wu shouted them back.

The opponent’s strikes weren’t fast, but his body was unnaturally tough—he must be a layerless Wu Xiu.

Someone like this was probably just a thug; a good beating would end it. No need to ruin the opening’s luck, and certainly no need to let his men get hurt.

He glanced at the man, intending to use a confusion technique to subdue him.

The man showed no reaction, swinging his blade again and again at Ma Wu.

Can he resist confusion techniques?

Is this man actually at a realm?

The opening was auspicious—Ma Wu truly didn’t want blood.

But this opponent clearly couldn’t be underestimated.

Ma Wu drew his short sword from behind his back, aiming to sever the man’s arm.

Crack!

The arm was severed—but no blood spilled.

Looking at the clean cut on the shoulder, Ma Wu frowned deeply.

The stump was hollow—inside, bamboo strips formed a skeleton.

This was a paper doll!

His first thought was Liu Liangyi, the shopkeeper of the Liu Family Paper Horse Shop.

Liu Liangyi was a fourth-layer Yan Xiu; this paper doll was his signature technique.

He’s come for revenge!

Xiao Chuan also recognized it as a paper doll and pulled out a box of matches: “Young Master, step back—I’ll burn him!”

“Don’t be reckless!” Ma Wu shouted, stopping Xiao Chuan.

Burn him?

Paper dolls don’t feel pain—they’d just catch fire and charge at people.

Ma Wu swung his short sword, chopping the paper doll to pieces—then a cold wind blew through the window, and every candle in the room went out.

“Get out!” Ma Wu ordered everyone to flee the hall—but at the door, they found they couldn’t escape.

Hundreds of figures stood densely at the entrance, more pouring in from the wilds beyond.

The dance hall was surrounded.

Even Ma Wu couldn’t break out, let alone his untrained staff and dancers.

After cutting down two paper dolls, Ma Wu retreated back into the hall and ordered two staff members to brace the door.

Bang! Bang! Bang!

The pounding on the door never ceased; Ma Wu searched for a way to respond.

These paper dolls were likely controlled by Liu Liangyi’s ghost servants.

Ghost servants are spirits; high-level Huan Xiu techniques can suppress them.

But Ma Wu’s realm was too low—without a magic treasure or spiritual object, he couldn’t even touch the spirits. This was why Yan Xiu were so frustrating.

If only he still had that fur coat.

When he was cast out of his family, the coat was taken back. With it, he wouldn’t have been scavenging from trash heaps—he could’ve made good money doing spirit-exorcising work.

Now he had no magic treasure—what else could counter ghost servants?

Filth!

He remembered: books said spirits abhorred filth and could be temporarily repelled by it.

“Spit! Spit on the door!”

Dozens of staff and over twenty dancers spat furiously at the door—the pounding gradually slowed.

It seemed to work.

Ma Wu beamed and ordered: “Smear spit on your faces—more the better! Anyone with thick phlegm, share it! When I give the signal, we charge out!”

Everyone spat into their hands and smeared it on their faces; even the dancers abandoned their modesty—one pretty girl wiped a thick snot across her entire face.

Ma Wu was about to open the door when two sharp cracks rang out!

The window glass shattered!

The paper dolls hadn’t been driven off by spit—they’d switched tactics under Liu Liangyi’s control.

Dozens of paper dolls crawled through the windows.

“Ahh!”

One staff member screamed as a paper doll slashed his back.

“Oh no!”

A dancer was grabbed, a large clump of her hair ripped out.

The room was pitch black, filled with screams—Ma Wu couldn’t tell which were paper dolls.

In panic, the only trick he could think of was spitting.

Would it work?

This little filth was barely enough.

These were fourth-layer Yan Xiu ghost servants—one spit on a paper doll’s face might make it pause, then it’d keep swinging.

Ma Wu slashed one paper doll to pieces—the ghost servant inside slipped out and possessed another, unharmed, continuing the fight.

Liu Liangyi, hiding at the village entrance, paused, then shook his head.

He hadn’t expected Ma Wu to be this weak.

He thought Ma Wu had killed Song Jiasen—his cultivation should’ve reached third layer, and he’d have at least a few magic treasures.

Had he known Ma Wu was this pitiful, he wouldn’t have bothered with paper dolls at all—just sent a dozen ghost servants and they’d all be dead.

Cornered, Ma Wu shouted: “Piss! Urinate on them!”

In desperation, men and women alike forgot shame, pulled out their parts, and prepared to unleash.

But the paper dolls gave them no chance—they swung their blades!

As the group was backed into a corner, about to be hacked to pulp, a large black figure burst from the latrine, shouting: “Young Master, don’t fear—follow me!”

The giant carried a two-foot iron barrel on his back and held a one-and-a-half-meter-long ladle, spraying a thick sludge over the paper dolls—several froze in place, the rest scrambled to hide against the walls.

Xiao Genzi had arrived!

He came with the barrel!

Now this was real filth!

Feces soup was the supreme filth; when refined by a Jin Xiu, it became the ultimate form of filth.

Xiao Genzi had struggled hard—he fought his way in and out of the hall seven times to reach the latrine window and jump inside.

After refilling his barrel in the latrine, Xiao Genzi charged into the center of the dance floor.

After a fierce battle, he stood by the window, unslung his feces barrel.

Raising it, he stunned the paper dolls.

Swinging his ladle, he flung a splash of sludge straight into Ma Wu’s face.

“Young Master, this way!”

Ma Wu wiped his face, gathered the group, and followed Xiao Genzi toward the window.

Jin Xiu suppress Yan Xiu—if this had been Du Hongxi, a second-layer Yan Xiu from the Jiangxiang Gang, even if he couldn’t win, he’d have carved a path out.

But this was a fourth-layer Yan Xiu’s ghost servants.

Liu Liangyi sneered: “I thought Jin Xiu were extinct—didn’t expect one still lived. Fine. I’ll send you on your way—save you from disgracing the world.”

He set down his incense, lit a candle, and used its flame to transmit his will, forcing the ghost servants to strike harder.

Xiao Genzi hadn’t reached a realm; his barrel’s filth was insufficient and low-grade—if the ghost servants charged, they’d easily break through.

That was Liu Liangyi’s style: cautious.

Ambush cost the least, yielded the most—he’d never show his face. Ma Wu would die without ever seeing him.

The candle flame trembled—the will was about to surge.

Dingling!

What was that sound?

Puff!

Li Banfeng stabbed Liu Liangyi in the back of the head, then blew out the candle.

The three-story Zhaixiu was overlooked by Liu Liangyi and his ghost servants alike.

Ambushes were the most advantageous, and Li Banfeng agreed wholeheartedly.

(End of Chapter)