Chapter 472: Demolition Team

She hadn't spoken yet when the other party opened their mouth again: "Let me reintroduce myself—I'm Qin Wen, and I'm pleased to meet you."

"Let's deal with this guy first." Cheng Shuili's tone was flat, her gaze always on the puppeteer, "Besides, are you sure you want to discuss this here and now?"

Qin Wen sheepishly withdrew his hand, rubbed his nose: "The atmosphere is too tense, let's liven things up. But Wuya Lao Da, you're right—business comes first."

She also restrained her smile, eyes sharp on the puppeteer: "This thing… looks like it's about to fail, but I keep feeling it's hiding something nasty."

Cheng Shuili didn't speak; she felt the same.

Instead, it felt like the last surge before the tide recedes, exuding an ominous stillness.

At that moment, on the puppeteer's mass of white skull, all the distorted faces suddenly froze for an instant.

Immediately, they all turned in unison toward Cheng Shuili and Qing Qing's kiss.

Countless pained faces now displayed a near-uniform malicious grin.

In this extremely horrifying scene, a laugh rang out: "So that's how it is… so that's how it is…"

"Ants… after all, they're just ants… to use such despicable means."

"It took hundreds of puppets and just two humans to barely subdue me for a moment…" The puppeteer's voice held suppressed anger, but more so resentment and a hatred that wished to kill the two instantly: "Truly despicable! Damn it!"

"But even so… how long can you hold out against me?"

The puppeteer sneered: "You think you've won, but actually, I'm still the victor!"

"How long can the rope hold, how long can those puppets last. Most importantly… if you had a weapon capable of killing me, why would you be so quiet, so patient?"

With each word it spoke, Qin Wen's face paled a shade.

This plan was Wu Ya's idea; as for what to do next, she had no clue. And most importantly… the puppeteer's words made perfect sense!

If there truly were a weapon that could kill it, Wu Ya would have surely brought it out by now?

The wounds on her body had just barely healed; if another round came…

She dared not think further.

In the silence, Cheng Shuili suddenly let out a soft laugh.

That laugh, amid the puppeteer's resentful declaration and Qin Wen's pale silence, stood out starkly, even carrying a hint of… careless mockery.

"You're right." Cheng Shuili lifted her head, Night Hunt casually slung over her shoulder, as if the life‑and‑death battle just now had been merely a warm‑up: "The rope will break, the puppets will lose strength, and we have no divine weapon capable of killing you from afar."

She stepped forward, treading on the dim red glow seeping from the edge of the Blood Ring, and gazed up at the white face composed of countless malicious smiles.

"So what?"

"So your victory is just being hung here like a pig awaiting slaughter, waiting for us to slowly find a way to wear you down? Or are you waiting for this broken theater to collapse on its own and crush you?"

Her tone was flat and straightforward, yet every word struck to the heart.

"You keep saying we're ants, despicable things."

Cheng Shuili tilted her head, her eyes holding no anger, only a near‑cruel scrutiny: "But aren't you now hanging from a net woven by ants, suspended on the stage you built yourself?"

"What about the rules you pride yourself on? The strings you control? Those elegant dramas and mind‑games you play?"

With each question, her voice grew clearer: "Oh, right—the flesh has rotted, the puppets have rebelled, even the rules you consider your foundation have been trampled underfoot by us."

"You're now like a trapped beast struggling, like a joke hanging here… what else can you do?"

Cheng Shuili paused, the corner of her mouth lifting into a faint smile.

"You ask how long I can hold out?"

"I'd rather ask you——"

She raised her hand; the blade of Night Hunt reflected the faint residual glow of the Blood Ring, also casting back the puppeteer's twisted white mass.

"This lump of flesh that should have rotted behind the curtains, you donned human skin, imitated humans, crafted these puppets, and built this theater—aren't these the very things you cherish?"

"Human skin… you tore it apart with your own hands; humans… you no longer bother disguising; puppets… now they obey me, leaving you with nothing but a theater…"

Cheng Shuili's voice suddenly rose: "Now, do you want us to destroy the theater as well?"

The countless faces on the puppeteer's white skull mass instantly froze.

The malicious grin froze on its face, as if each of Cheng Shuili's words were a red‑hot blade, viciously stabbed into its heart.

"You… you don't understand anything…" Its voice began to warp, thin and shrill with a hint of hoarseness: "This is art! Eternal drama! You maggots that live and die in a day don't even deserve to appreciate it!"

"Art?" Cheng Shuili scoffed, the tip of Night Hunt slowly rising to point at the theater's splendid yet gloomy curtains, carved railings, and lofty dome: "Art born of fear and death is merely a rotten monster's self‑comfort. You treasure it—perfect."

She turned her head, addressing Qin Wen and likewise the surviving Gray Puppets around her, and said clearly: "Smash this place."

"Everything that can be torn down, smashed, burned—let this artist have a good look at the finale of her masterpiece."

Qin Wen stared blankly for a moment, then her eyes blazed with fierce, exhilarating light.

The weakness from her barely healed wounds seemed instantly dispelled by those words, a surge of spite rushing to her head.

She had long found this ghastly place displeasing!

"Understood!"

She answered with a sound, glanced around, then casually snatched a half‑segment of the puppeteer's sharp limb from the earlier battle, using it as a makeshift weapon, and turned to charge at the nearest row of scarlet curtains.

Screech—!

A grating fabric‑tearing sound rang out.

Qin Wen gave a hard pull, the heavy velvet tearing open a huge gash under her force; then followed even wilder destruction as she slashed the limb to shreds, turning the splendid curtains into ragged tatters.

At the same time, the Gray Puppets moved with stiff yet swift steps, spreading out.

The crisp sound of shattering glass burst like celebratory cannon fire inside the theater.

The noise of destruction instantly filled the entire space.

Cracking wood, shattering glass, twisting metal, ripping fabric…

Wove together into a violent, chaotic finale symphony.

Dust sifted down, debris flying in all directions.

This gloomy, splendid theater was visibly heading toward collapse at a pace you could see.

"No… stop! You vile things! Stop!!!" The puppeteer's hoarse shout turned into a piercing scream.