Chapter Seventy-Six: The Art of Corpse Puppet Gu

Everyone at the Martial Platform in East Continent City was fully engrossed in the duel unfolding before them. The scene had occurred so suddenly, even more striking than when Jiang Pingchuan had systematically crushed Wu Duo moments ago.

Jiang Pingchuan’s overwhelming dominance had seemed to spell an inevitable defeat, yet Wu Duo launched a desperate counterattack from the brink, matching Jiang Pingchuan’s momentum and even showing hints of power capable of breaking the cultivation restraints of the Changfeng Continent.

“What’s going on with Wu Duo’s strength? He now has the initial power of the Foundation Establishment’s mid-stage, but I sense no genuine energy from him,” Ah Hu murmured, standing beside Master Gong, his eyes fixed on the dueling platform. In his heart, he wished to see Jiang Pingchuan humiliated, reduced to a pulp before all the citizens of East Continent City.

For a fleeting moment, Ah Hu had even considered that Jiang Pingchuan might die on the platform. Yet, witnessing the strength Jiang Pingchuan had displayed, Ah Hu felt not only shock but also a hope that Jiang Pingchuan would triumph in this duel. His victory might truly resolve the crisis facing East Continent City.

“Body Refining Technique… The Wu Duo before us is no longer the Wu Duo we knew,” Lai Qing, seated not far away, squinted at the figure of Wu Duo gripping Jiang Pingchuan’s shoulder. The black poisonous maggots on Wu Duo’s body crawled along his arms toward Jiang Pingchuan. Yet Jiang Pingchuan’s silver robe, as if wrapped in flowing water, caused the black maggots to slide off onto the ground without clinging to him.

Ah Hu glanced at Lai Qing, who had closed his eyes, while Master Gong calmly rolled his prayer beads, his gaze darting around before silently rising and blending into the crowd.

Ah Hu paid little mind to Master Gong’s departing silhouette; his attention was wholly fixed on the duel. He desperately wished for Jiang Pingchuan to leave the platform alive.

Jiang Pingchuan’s fist still pressed against Wu Duo’s chest as Wu Duo, his face contorted in anxiety, stared back. Wu Duo’s tongue was slowly devoured by the black maggots, dissolving into a black liquid that trickled from the corner of his mouth.

“I want to try something,” Jiang Pingchuan said, lightly tapping his fist against Wu Duo’s chest. Wu Duo’s pupils constricted sharply, and he released Jiang Pingchuan’s shoulder, his arms falling slack as he stood motionless.

Jiang Pingchuan slowly withdrew his fist, which was now intangible. As he retreated, Wu Duo trembled, his head bowed as he gazed at his chest, from which an illusory spear was being drawn.

“What is that…?”

“Manifestation of true energy,” Zhao Kunhe remarked, watching Jiang Pingchuan on the platform. “Though Jiang Pingchuan’s strength cannot match Wu Duo’s, his techniques are rare. Simple but ruthless—wounding the enemy by a thousand, harming himself by eight hundred. He’s a fierce one.”

Those on the platform, including the hidden elders, were among the city’s most powerful cultivators. Jiang Pingchuan, though not as robust as Wu Duo or some of the others lurking in the shadows, stood out for his steady heart and his ferocity.

“This Wu Duo still isn’t a match for Jiang Pingchuan…”

Mo Shu, chewing on a stalk of wild grass, snorted sourly. It was clear Mo Shu’s earlier provocations toward Jiang Pingchuan now seemed nothing if not self-defeating.

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“Heh, until this duel is truly over, who knows who will win?” Lai Qing laughed, then signaled someone behind him with a glance. That person nodded and quietly slipped into the crowd.

Jiang Pingchuan gazed at the unmoving Wu Duo and at the bloody hole he had pierced through Wu Duo’s chest. Zhao Kunhe had been right—wounding Wu Duo had cost Jiang Pingchuan dearly. His mouth was dry and salty, a faint metallic taste rising in his throat.

A guttural growl escaped Wu Duo, who shook his head slightly. Jiang Pingchuan gripped his spear tightly, watching as Wu Duo’s heart was gradually filled with black maggots.

Wu Duo, previously motionless, let out another low growl. The sound made Jiang Pingchuan’s ears tingle and his heart race.

Jiang Pingchuan thrust his spear straight at Wu Duo’s throat. Just as it was about to strike, Wu Duo suddenly raised his hands to grip the spear—but the weapon was formless, impossible to grasp. Jiang Pingchuan’s attack went through, piercing Wu Duo’s throat.

Wu Duo’s body trembled, and behind him, Jiang Pingchuan saw a shadow being repelled by his spear. The face was grotesquely twisted, eyes bulging as it stared at Jiang Pingchuan. The black shadow on Wu Duo faded, and Jiang Pingchuan withdrew his spear, seeing a look of release settle over Wu Duo’s features.

“Mmm… ah ah…” Wu Duo tried to speak, but without his tongue, only muffled sounds escaped. Jiang Pingchuan nodded, watched Wu Duo’s lips curl into a faint smile, and saw him collapse straight to the ground. For the second time, everyone witnessed Wu Duo’s fall.

If Wu Duo could stand again after this, everyone’s worldview would be shattered. To survive a pierced heart and a skewered throat would be the height of the inconceivable.

Jiang Pingchuan put away his spear and stood, gazing at Wu Duo’s body. Wu Duo’s once robust form had shriveled, the black maggots evaporating into foul-smelling smoke that vanished into the air.

Wu Duo’s skin was now completely sunken, his body a mere sack over a skeleton, eyes hollow, his original appearance erased by the maggots’ corrosion.

Jiang Pingchuan watched as the last black maggot dissipated, then turned to face the citizens of East Continent City.

“Puh…” He spat out a mouthful of black blood; his face was shrouded in dark mist, eyes bulging. The scene before him shifted constantly—he saw a mountain, streams murmuring through shaded woods.

On the mountainside, a young man in blue smiled at him, pointing to a cave behind, from which light seemed to flicker.

In a blink, the youth vanished. Jiang Pingchuan shook his head, realizing Ah Hu was supporting him off the dueling platform, as voices rose and fell among the crowd.

No one cared about Wu Duo now; all their concern was whether Jiang Pingchuan still possessed the strength to resolve the city’s crisis after this duel.

Master Gong, turning his prayer beads, hurried forward, his aura no less formidable than Wu Duo’s. He slipped into a quiet alley, stopping to look at a young man slumped against the wall.

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The youth’s hair was disheveled, black puddles and blood stains pooled at his feet. Hearing someone approach, he raised his head; his face was covered in black streaks, veins bulging, eyes hollowed, lips stained purple-black.

“Master Gong, save me… Save me…” Han Ming whispered, leaning against the wall. He had suffered backlash from Jiang Pingchuan’s distant strike; without immediate help, he would surely die.

“I am but an old man without strength—how could I possibly save the young city lord?” Master Gong was momentarily stunned by Han Ming’s plea, worry clouding his face as he hurried toward him. Han Ming’s gaze flickered as he sighed against the wall.

“Master Gong, you know, all these years I targeted you out of jealousy. Now, facing death, I realize a person shouldn’t spend their life stepping on others to prove themselves. I regret it deeply. The man you brought seems trustworthy—I hope he can truly resolve East Continent City’s crisis,” Han Ming said quietly, head bowed. Master Gong, standing before the ghostly, barely human Han Ming, sighed.

“If only the young lord had realized this sooner, things would not have come to this,” Master Gong placed his hand on Han Ming’s shoulder, his voice mournful, though a strange light flickered in his eyes.

“Master Gong, do you know…” Han Ming suddenly looked up, eyes wide. Master Gong’s face was stricken with shock and fear as he stared at Han Ming’s twisted smile.

“You…”

“I don’t, young lord,” Master Gong’s expression abruptly shifted to a smile. He laughed, and with his other hand, pierced Han Ming’s body. Han Ming’s lips trembled in rage as he looked at Master Gong, who now wore a ferocious grin rather than his usual kindly smile.

“Your corpse-controlling skills are too poor—that’s why you suffered backlash. But this one, alive or dead, ought to be put to use,” Master Gong said coldly, his eyes fixed on the bewildered Han Ming.

“Old fox… you will die as well…” Han Ming laughed bitterly, gazing at Master Gong, who snorted, withdrew his hand, watched Han Ming slump to the ground, spat, and quickly vanished down the alley.

As Master Gong disappeared, a figure emerged at the other end of the alley, looked at Han Ming’s lifeless corpse, sighed, and left with a somber expression.

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