Chapter 110: Siamese Little Demons (Requesting Monthly Votes!)

Zheng Rongkui was helping the caravan boss at the city gate—either performing for himself or hiding something deeper.

Neither side ever regarded the fifty thousand people of Zhenla as human!

It wasn’t that they held views like “those not of our kind must have different hearts”; behind the Yong Wang line, hundreds of imperial youth had been delivered as blood food to the Four-Headed Demons—they simply never saw ordinary people as human at all!

A few hundred versus fifty thousand—merely a difference in numbers.

Zheng Rongkui came to Qihetai Town and “applied” to join the Yifangting Inn—likely a unilateral move by the Demon-Slaying Army: send someone to see what you’re up to in Ghost Witch Mountain? Why has no agreement been reached after so long?

“Bring out Haikou Chan,” Xu Yuan said.

Zheng Rongkui chuckled darkly: “Underestimated you, didn’t I? Yes, I convinced Haikou Chan not to join forces with Huangchong Po or Qin Gaoming.”

Zheng Rongkui had secretly observed for a long time, and his disdain for the Yong Wang faction grew deeper.

“So you persuaded Haikou Chan to ally with you,” Xu Yuan stated his deduction: “If Haikou Chan doesn’t show up, Qin Gaoming fights us to the death—no matter the outcome, it only benefits you.”

Zheng Rongkui raised an eyebrow: “Correct. If Qin Gaoming wins, we continue cooperating; my side suffers no loss.

If Qin Gaoming loses, I’ll have Haikou Chan introduce me, sever ties with the Yong Wang faction, and keep negotiating with those few on Guanghuo Street.

If you both are crippled but neither dies, even better—I kill Qin Gaoming, frame you, and let the Yong Wang faction clash to the death with your Qinghui Bureau.”

As they spoke, a tongue hundreds of zhang long descended like a crimson waterfall from a mountain peak to the northeast.

Saliva streamed down the tongue like a river, gushing loudly.

From the water rose one after another ghostly soldiers clad in black armor and helmets, their eyes dark red, fangs jutting from beneath their lips.

Exactly one hundred and twenty of them.

Forty held spears two zhang long, forty carried blades and shields, and forty wielded crossbows powered by foot pressure.

After descending from the tongue, they formed ranks: shield-bearers in front, spearmen in the center, archers at the rear.

Marching shoulder to shoulder, their formation shifted with precision, radiating murderous aura and chilling ghostly energy!

As the crowd watched this elite ghostly unit, a ring of five-colored smoke rivers suddenly rose around them.

The toxic mist, vividly colored, climbed higher, trapping everyone within.

A second tongue had silently wrapped itself around them.

A third long tongue slashed through the air and struck Xu Yuan’s great spear with a clang—its shaft snapped instantly!

The withered, shadowy soldier gripping the spear vanished with a whoosh back into Zheng Rongkui’s body.

Xu Yuan flew into rage, ignoring everything else—he sent his sword pellet flying straight at Zheng Rongkui!

Zheng Rongkui’s fat body was lifted into the air by two towering spirits, hovering and dodging as he sneered: “Foolish boy, you really think I’m a soft target?”

Back in the alley, when you pinned my throat with a dagger—that was only because I didn’t want to reveal my true strength.

Zheng Rongkui suddenly tore a thick rope from his sleeve, woven from multicolored scraps of cloth.

The rope hung with several skull-shaped bells and eight small cloth bags.

The bells clacked with an uncanny sound, like white bones rolling over stone pavement.

He yanked the rope—eight small cloth bags burst open, spilling out eight tiny demons, each the size of a fist.

Each demon had bluish-black skin, shriveled and wrinkled, a large head and thin body—dead for countless years, covered head to toe in black fur, with only two milky-white eyes.

The little demons landed on Zheng Rongkui’s body, shrieking sharply, as if starving.

Zheng Rongkui ripped off his clothes with a tear, slapped his fat belly with both hands—his flesh quivered as the eight little demons clamped down and sucked.

All his body fat poured into their mouths.

The little demons grew rapidly—and no matter their original appearance, the more they grew, the more they resembled Zheng Rongkui!

In the end, the eight little demons became eight miniature, pudgy versions of Fat Zheng!

He could no longer be called Fat Zheng—he had fed all his fat to the eight little demons and was now skin and bone.

Yan Lao stared in shock: “This—this is Siamese sorcery! But it’s been modified somehow—more terrifying than the original Siamese version!”

Xu Yuan’s sword pellet flashed again, striking Zheng Rongkui: “Feeding your own body to demons—you truly wish to die!”

One little demon leapt into the air, opened its mouth, and wailed “Waa!”

Everyone instantly felt dizzy, their souls wavering and unmoored.

The little demon bit down on Xu Yuan’s sword pellet—the pellet sliced through its cheeks, but what spilled out wasn’t blood—it was thick, greasy, repulsive fat!

The little demon bit down fiercely, as if certain it could crush the sword pellet.

Xu Yuan sneered, activated the fire wheel, and surged forward—he hurled the carriage into the air, where it unfurled into a giant bamboo cage, descending to trap the little demon inside.

Xu Yuan spat a burst of flame into the cage with a whoosh!

He burned the little demon inside!

“It’s you I’m squeezing!” Xu Yuan barked.

The little demon screamed in agony inside, its cries echoing—Xu Yuan nearly tumbled off his fire wheel.

Two more little demons vanished from Zheng Rongkui’s side, then reappeared beneath Xu Yuan’s feet, reaching out with tiny hands to grab his legs.

Fire erupted from Xu Yuan’s dantian, surging up the fire wheel—their hands were instantly charred black; they shrieked and fled.

But Xu Yuan felt heavier, slower—his steps grew sluggish.

He rolled up his pant leg—two black handprints marred each calf.

The black aura from the prints spread outward, forming a rapidly expanding network of purple-black spiderwebbing.

Zheng Rongkui shouted: “Now see who’s the soft target!”

Xu Yuan pinched his fingers—several pills flew out, darting erratically, overlapping in defense, all nearly identical in appearance, indistinguishable to the eye.

One little demon, with bulging, frog-like eyes, spotted a pill flying toward it—leapt up, raised its tiny hand, and slapped it with a sharp smack.

Filth immediately tainted the pill, making it heavy and sluggish—its control by the pill cultivator became clumsy.

But the hand that struck was precisely on the sword pellet.

Shhh—

The sword pellet instantly gleamed with razor sharpness!

With a hiss, it pierced the little demon’s palm.

“Waa—”

The little demon wailed—its palm wound oozed thick, greasy fat.

Xu Yuan’s pill cultivation had reached the seventh tier; his control over the sword pellet was now effortless, unleashing its full power.

Having wounded the little demon, the sword pellet retracted, reverting to a pill and flying away.

The other little demon grew cautious, squatting like a frog, neck raised, eyes bulging, motionless as it stared at the flying pills—perfectly mimicking the essence of a frog catching insects!

Puke!

A pill flew over its head—the little demon spat a jet of black, filthy muck!

Like a frog’s tongue, it shot out with a zip and struck the pill.

Just like the first little demon, it used filth to corrupt Xu Yuan’s pills.

The first one attacked directly—and suffered dearly.

This one learned—changed tactics to spitting.

Once tainted, the pill became uncontrollable and plummeted straight down.

Before the little demon could react, the pill landed on its head—then splattered open into a flat sheet.

The sheet wrapped downward, enclosing the little demon completely.

No matter how it struggled, twisted, or writhed inside—it couldn’t escape!

Really tired—back’s been aching for two days. Let me rest today—three chapters.

Still, I humbly beg for monthly votes…

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(End of Chapter)