Eternal Life: I Can Sell Everything

Song Ciwan stood outside the North Gate of Bright Moon Square, listening to a high-pitched song coming from an unknown source. She saw countless streams of formless energy twist and rise from the heads of the people below.

That energy was a "multicolored white," forming a stark contrast with the pitch-black sky.

Suddenly, from within the dense crowd ahead, a portly merchant wearing a wealthy man’s cap shot up onto the tips of his fat, round feet.

On his toes, he stumbled about, waving his arms high in the air as he began a clumsy, drunken dance.

He opened his mouth, picking up the melody from the high-pitched female voice, and sang along: "Bind them up, bind them up, bind the little feet. Thirty years old, a fine time to bind the feet. Bind them to a perfect point, bind them oh-so-neat..."

His voice was also incredibly high-pitched; coarse yet shrill, the song seemed to rise with enough force to pierce the very clouds.

But that wasn’t the strangest part. Bizarrely, his high-pitched, coarse song held a faint, coquettish undertone.

The flirtatious quality was subtle yet impossible to ignore. Combined with the merchant’s obese form, the sound made everyone who heard it shudder in disgust.

And the people closest to the merchant shrieked in terror, "His... his feet!"

Song Ciwan stood outside the North Gate of Bright Moon Square, her Spiritual Sense stretching out like threads. It instantly pierced through the crowd, homing in on the merchant’s feet.

She saw that at some unknown point, two white silk ribbons had wound themselves around his fleshy feet.

The ribbons coiled around his shoes like living creatures. A moment later, as if struck by some terrifying corrosion, his shoes disintegrated into decaying ash.

His socks suffered the same corrosion, turning to ash in the blink of an eye. Then, it was the feet themselves.

His feet were pale and fleshy, and as the ribbons wrapped around them, the fat was squeezed into bulging rings. When the ribbons suddenly constricted, there was a sound—CRACK, CRACK, CRACK!

"Ah!" The merchant shrieked in agony, yet his coquettish singing never stopped.

A series of bone-snapping sounds echoed as his pale, fleshy feet were brutally bound by the ribbons, twisted into two small, pointed shapes, like a pair of tightly wrapped dumplings.

Fresh blood seeped through the ribbons, dyeing them the crimson of a blooming flower.

Bright red blood dripped from the ribbons, drop by drop. The merchant screamed and sang without cease, his tiptoed dance never faltering.

"AHHHH!"

"Run! The Witch has got him!"

"The Witch has possessed him! Help me! *Sobbing* I don’t want to die! I don’t want my feet bound! Let me out! Let me out of here!"

The crowd roared and scattered, swarming toward the square’s gate like a disturbed hive. The pressure on the gate suddenly intensified.

The merchant’s song continued unabated. He sang, line by line: "Binding feet, oh, binding feet. With feet bound, it’s hard to live. Every step, a lifetime of pain, every path, a blade’s edge. You see me sway, each step a blooming lotus, but little do you know, my toes are dripping blood, and my heart is weeping blood..."

The song and screams blended, growing ever more shrill and piercing—a sound that could stop the very clouds in their tracks.

He waved his arms, leaping and spinning. In a flash, he jumped an incredible distance and grabbed hold of a man dressed as a Scholar.

The Scholar shivered, managing only to cry out, "Ah! Let go—"

Before the cry even faded, the foot-bound merchant thrust his large, fleshy face close to the Scholar’s and asked in a strained, high-pitched voice, "Young master, tell me... aren’t my little feet just lovely?"

The Scholar was struck dumb with terror, gaping and unable to answer.

The merchant’s expression soured instantly. "Not answering? What, do you find my little feet ugly? Do you know how much pain it takes to bind them? You dare find them ugly?! Fine, then you can try it for yourself!"

The words were barely out of his mouth when the Scholar began to scream. "Ah! AHHHH! My feet! My feet!"

His feet suffered the same fate as the merchant’s before him.

White silk ribbons materialized from nowhere, coiling around his feet like living creatures. In an instant, his foot bones were snapped and crushed, his feet twisted into a pair of small, pointed stumps!

The crowd scattered in ever-greater terror, only to realize with dawning despair that the foot-binding was "contagious"!

A mere touch from one of the afflicted—even just a brush against the hem of their clothes—was enough to seal one’s fate. They too would have their feet bound by the ribbons.

Of course, the crowd didn’t consist of only ordinary mortals. Many had practiced martial arts, and among them were even Innate Experts, Cultivators, and Scholars possessing Talent.

But regardless of their type of Cultivation, regardless of age or gender, once "infected," no one could escape having their feet bound into those small, pointed shapes!

Outside the square’s gate, the City Patrol Department Soldiers, holding long spears in a tight formation, felt a chill run down their spines and broke out in cold sweats as they watched the scene unfold.

They remained un"infected," not because their Cultivation was especially profound, but because they were formed into a military Array that offered temporary protection. Moreover, several Innate Second Transformation experts were serving as the Array’s core, holding a tight guard over the entire section of wall and the gate.

But no one knew how long this defense could last.

An Innate Second Transformation expert was a rarity even within the City Patrol Department. In terms of official rank, some of them were even higher than Tian Junhong had been.

Yet even these Innate Second Transformation experts were stretched taut, not daring to relax for a single instant.

"General Guo, we can hold out for half an hour at most. How much longer until the people inside find the Witch’s real body?"

At the very core of the military Array, a few Innate Experts conversed in low tones.

As they spoke, their eyes were locked on the gate, watching the chaos in the crowd intensify. Another spoke up: "This can’t go on, General Guo. Perhaps we should..."

As he spoke, he held his hand out flat like a blade, making a sharp, downward chop. A ruthless glint entered his eyes. "What’s the harm in killing a few?"

General Guo stood at the very center of the formation, one hand resting on a long spear plunged deep into the ground. Its red tassel fluttered below the head, the tip glinted with a cold light, and invisible ripples of power emanated from her body.

Her voice, when she spoke, was clear and sweet, but laced with a stubborn chill. "We cannot. The more who die, the stronger the Witch becomes, and the harder it will be to find her true form. These people have always frequented the pleasure districts. Since they love admiring small feet so much, what’s the harm in letting them admire their own until they’ve had their fill?"

At her words, the other Innate Martial Artists fell silent, unable to object.

They continued their discussion for a while, and their conversation revealed a great deal of information.

Song Ciwan, who had been silently observing from the side, finally pieced together a general understanding of the situation inside Bright Moon Square.

In short, the turmoil had been started by Princess Chunshui.

And now, Princess Chunshui was nowhere to be found, while her strange and sinister power was starting to snowball at an explosive rate!

For every person who died in Bright Moon Square, the Witch’s power grew. In the preceding hours, an unknowable number had already perished within.

Hundreds, over a thousand... perhaps even several thousand!

Just how strong was Princess Chunshui, now that she had become the Witch?

That, no one knew.