What the clown enjoyed was not just the result, but the process—the thrill of toying with all living beings. As long as it amused him, nothing else mattered. If a gamble lacked fairness, it became boring, and that would ruin the fun.
"Too cruel, too ruthless. A total of 129,600 cuts. How can anyone possibly endure that many? How much flesh would that take? That's impossible—anyone would die before finishing."
"That clown is downright vicious. Absolutely ruthless."
Ye Zhiqiu and the others looked at the clown with grave expressions, their gazes filled with hostility. This was nothing less than using human lives as entertainment.
What was lingchi? In ancient times, it had been one of the most brutal forms of execution.
Also known as "death by a thousand cuts," it first appeared during the Five Dynasties period and was later officially codified during the Liao dynasty. It was practiced through the Jin, Yuan, Ming, and Qing dynasties, becoming the cruelest form of capital punishment. It required 3,357 cuts, with the final cut piercing the heart to complete the execution.
And now, this clown had proposed 129,600 cuts—far beyond traditional lingchi. Not only that, the contestant had to cut their own flesh. Compared to standard lingchi, this was unimaginably more gruesome and horrifying.
"Come now, is there a brave soul among you?"
The clown called out to the monstrous army before him. "Anyone who participates in the gamble and survives will be granted freedom, lifted from the ranks of cannon fodder, and become a true member of the Eternal Night Sacred Race. But first, you must win."
Even though the monster horde had been consumed by destruction and slaughter, they still understood his words. That was the clown's power.
Boom!!
The temptation of becoming part of the Eternal Night Sacred Race was irresistible. Without hesitation, every soldier in the monstrous army surged forward. Clearly, they were all willing to stake their lives for even a chance at the transformation.
To become one of the Eternal Night Sacred Race meant no longer being a mindless pawn. It meant awakening bloodlines, gaining individuality, and becoming stronger. This was the primal instinct of all living beings.
Now, the opportunity was right in front of them. None were willing to pass it up, even if it meant death.
"Since you're all so eager, I'll choose one at random… You, there."
The clown was quite pleased with the response. He casually pointed, and from the army, a burly Yellow Turban Giant was lifted into the air and dropped into the arena. A strange divine light shone on him, burrowing into his body. As it did, the cold, mindless, destructive gaze in his eyes gradually faded, replaced by awareness.
"Greetings, Lord Clown."
Now fully restored in mind and spirit, the Yellow Turban Giant bowed respectfully.
Clearly, while he had regained his emotions and thoughts, he no longer saw himself as part of the human race—or even the Eternal Continent. He belonged to something else now.
"Very good. You'll be this round's contestant. Win, and you'll become one of the Eternal Night Sacred Race. Lose… and die."The clown giggled, then turned to Yi Tianxing."Well? Have you chosen your contestant?"
A chill ran down the spines of everyone on the city walls.
Lingchi, 129,600 cuts. It was like a waking nightmare. No one could ignore it. Even though every soldier had come to this battlefield prepared to die, lingchi was another matter entirely. It struck at a primal fear.
But after a moment of hesitation, countless soldiers shouted:
"Your Majesty, I volunteer for the gamble!"
That initial fear was quickly replaced by resolve.
They were Da Yi soldiers. How could they allow monsters to outmatch them in courage?
"Let me go."
At that moment, Nine Lives stepped forward, bowed, and requested,
"I volunteer for the duel. Lingchi? I fear not death. Besides, I have methods to stay alive. I have the best chance of survival and can win this for Your Majesty. Da Yi must not lose."
Determination blazed in his eyes. His name wasn't Nine Lives for nothing. He wasn't the strongest, but in terms of staying alive, few could compare.
"Are you sure? This is lingchi. And it's just a gamble—we don't have to win."
Yi Tianxing looked at Nine Lives, moved.
This method of dueling was too cruel. Against enemies, perhaps. But against one of his own… even he struggled with it. His soldiers weren't disposable pawns to be gambled away.
He had never expected the clown to propose something this barbaric.
"Please allow it, Your Majesty. I am willing."
Nine Lives knelt on one knee, gaze unwavering.
It was Da Yi that had kept them alive this long. Deep in his heart, Nine Lives held a fierce loyalty, admiration, and gratitude toward Yi Tianxing.
"Fine. Take this—a Second-Grade Yin-Yang Pill. It contains the power of yin and yang. If you can't take it anymore, swallow this. Even if we lose, you must survive. So long as you're alive, anything is possible. Life is more important than victory."
Yi Tianxing took a deep breath and handed him a red-and-blue pill with two clear pill marks on it. This was a Second-Grade Yin-Yang Pill, far stronger than the First-Grade version. It could keep him alive even on the verge of death.
"Thank you, Your Majesty."
Nine Lives received the pill respectfully.
The soldiers on the walls looked upon him with admiration, hope, and the gaze one reserves for a true warrior.
Outside Sunset City, on the battlefieldNine Lives now stood face to face with the Yellow Turban Giant.
Their gazes locked with fierce battle intent and madness.
"Very well. Let it begin. This is a contest of lingchi—whoever cuts more of their own flesh, makes more cuts, they win. First to die, loses. Whoever completes the 129,600 cuts faster, wins."
The clown giggled from atop his wooden horse, gleaming with anticipation.
"Let the show begin."
He waved his hand, and a pink light fell over both contestants.
"Just for added fun, this divine light will make you feel everything more acutely—dozens, hundreds of times more than normal. What once felt like an ant bite will now match the pain of a woman giving birth. Come on—scream for me. Entertain me."
His eyes gleamed with depraved delight.
"Haaahh!!"
The Yellow Turban Giant roared, drawing a knife the size of a scalpel. In an instant, his clothes exploded off his body, shredded into bits by his energy. He now stood completely naked, his burly form striking and grotesque.
"What the hell? He blew off his clothes just like that?"
Lu Zhishen sneered. "Tearing off your clothes? Please. Anyone can do that."
"Hmph!"
Nine Lives merely snorted and began calmly removing his garments, piece by piece—not in a frenzy, but with deliberate precision. The contrast between them was striking: one wild and barbaric, the other civilized and composed.
"You think you can out-crazy me?"
The Yellow Turban Giant grinned viciously. With one smooth stroke—
Schlick!!
Blood sprayed. He'd sliced his own manhood off.
Hissss!!
The soldiers on the wall sucked in cold breaths, legs instinctively clenching together as a deep chill crawled up their spines.
Ruthless. This was true ruthlessness.
Gulp.
Ye Zhiqiu swallowed hard.
"So ruthless. He went straight for his junk. That's not just ruthless—that's insane."
"Absolutely nuts. He's regained his mind and emotions, and he still had the guts to do that? He really is insane. But man, cutting that off right at the start… is that really okay?"
Cheng Yaojin's jaw dropped in shock.
That first cut left everyone horrified—especially the male soldiers. The psychological impact was devastating.
"AAAAAHHH!!"
The Yellow Turban Giant screamed in agony.
Cutting off your manhood—that's pain no man can bear. Now multiply that pain by a hundred?
The sheer agony pierced his soul. In one piercing scream, his body trembled, his eyes rolled back, and—
Thud.
He collapsed to the ground, unconscious from the pain.