Chapter 22: The Bride of the Wraith King (22)

The villagers, fearful of being implicated themselves, tossed the "Jiang men" together into the River of Forgetfulness.

The woodcutters were out.

Now, only seven players remained.

No one had expected the woodcutters to meet such an end upon reaching the shore.

Had she known, Tang Mu wouldn’t have dragged Xue Fen into the coffin. If Xue Fen had died along with the woodcutters, there would be one less player present. Tang Mu felt a pang of regret, wishing she had seized the opportunity to eliminate Xue Fen directly. But what was done was done; regret was useless now.

The brides were escorted to a gravestone. There was a mechanism beside it. The old man smoking dry tobacco pressed a certain spot on the gravestone, causing a slab of green stone behind it to slowly shift aside. Beneath the stone was a deep, pitch-black corridor.

Inside, presumably, lay the chamber of that opulent, brocade-robed elder.

Tang Mu, Sister, I’m a little scared," Xue Fen whispered. Despite the potion he’d drunk, his grip remained strong. He clung to Tang Mu’s arm as though terrified she might suddenly disappear. Tang Mu’s arm ached from his grip. She tried to pull away, but couldn’t budge him—absurd, really.

“Go easy,” Tang Mu couldn’t help but remind him.

“Sorry, sorry,” Xue Fen replied reflexively, even in his dazed state, yet his grip didn’t loosen at all.

Tang Mu was speechless. Still, she forced herself to ignore the pain in her arm and focused on observing the underground environment.

Beyond the deep corridor lay an exquisitely furnished underground chamber. The room was filled with everything: ancient screens, fine rosewood furniture, a washroom, a delicate copper basin, and a bathing tub. There were also all manner of forbidden implements, dizzying to behold, making faces flush with embarrassment.

The brocade-robed elder’s lecherous gaze bore into Tang Mu and the other dressed-up brides.

He let out a chilling, sinister laugh, sending shivers from the feet to the crown of the head. The other brides in the coffins began to sob louder, trembling in terror, yet unable to withstand the elder’s menacing presence.

“Though this batch of brides is smaller in number, the quality is superb. Excellent, excellent. Especially you—you’re the most beautiful I’ve seen in my centuries of life,” the elder said, pointing at Tang Mu.

As his greasy hand reached toward her, Tang Mu imitated his cold laughter. “Do you know why there are so few brides delivered each time?”

The elder’s expression stiffened. “Why?”

“Because you’ve been deceived,” Tang Mu replied, her laughter wild and arrogant. “The old witch and the villagers are responsible for fetching the brides, so how could they possibly deliver them all unharmed? They’ve traded plenty of girls using your hand. Your reputation in the Azure Dragon Village is already ruined, you know?”

“Impossible!” At the mention of his ruined reputation, the elder’s face twisted with rage and arrogance. “They are my dogs; how could they dare betray me?”

“If you doubt it, why don’t you go out and check? Perhaps you’ve spent too long indulging in this dark chamber and haven’t ventured outside. Do you know what the villagers say about you?”

“They say you’re disgusting, perverse.”

“You pretend to care about reputation and family values, yet secretly you rely on ghost marriages for the dead to satisfy your sordid desires. You’ve long been the object of public condemnation. Surely you suspect as much—otherwise, why would you only dare to cower in this tiny underground room, never stepping into the sunlight?”

“Isn’t it because you’re afraid?”

“Afraid of everyone pointing fingers at your back?”

The elder’s forehead veins bulged, nearly strangling Tang Mu on the spot. Yet he forced himself to quell his rage.

“No matter,” the brocade-robed elder tried to disguise his inner turmoil, striving to appear calm. “Since you’re beautiful, I’ll let it go.”

“But once I’m done with you, I’ll seal that mouth of yours!”

Who’s afraid of whom?

Seizing the moment as the elder turned away, Tang Mu swiftly drew a petrification talisman and slapped it onto his back.

His limbs froze, unable to move.

Yet unlike the monsters outside, he wasn’t instantly petrified by the talisman—only his limbs stiffened.

“You—you dare?”

“Still able to talk?” Tang Mu grabbed a stone hammer and began pounding his head repeatedly. The monster was clearly of a higher level; despite Tang Mu’s force, the old man’s skull remained hard as iron, not a drop of blood spilling forth.

“Damn, your head’s tough.”

Tang Mu,