“The Bodhisattva Avalokiteshvara, while practicing the profound Prajna Paramita, perceived that all five skandhas are empty, thus transcending all suffering. Shariputra, form does not differ from emptiness, emptiness does not differ from form. Form is emptiness, emptiness is form. The same is true of feelings, perceptions, impulses, and consciousness. Shariputra, all dharmas are marked with emptiness. They do not arise or cease, are not tainted or pure, do not increase or decrease. Therefore, in emptiness there is no form, no feelings, perceptions, impulses, or consciousness. No eyes, ears, nose, tongue, body, or mind; no color, sound, smell, taste, touch, or object of mind. No realm of eyes, and so forth until no realm of mind consciousness. No ignorance and also no extinction of it, and so forth until no old age and death and also no extinction of them. No suffering, no origination, no stopping, no path, no cognition, also no attainment. With nothing to attain, the Bodhisattva depends on Prajna Paramita and the mind is no hindrance. Without any hindrance, no fears exist. Far apart from every perverted view, one dwells in Nirvana. In the three worlds, all Buddhas depend on Prajna Paramita and attain Anuttara Samyak Sambodhi. Therefore, know that Prajna Paramita is the great transcendent mantra, the great bright mantra, the utmost mantra, the supreme mantra, which is able to relieve all suffering and is true, not false. So proclaim the Prajna Paramita mantra, proclaim the mantra that says: Gate gate paragate parasamgate bodhi svaha.” Takayama Yoko and those dancers did not dance, but rather sat on the ground like monks following the crisp bell sounds and began chanting scripture. Two lines at a time, pausing after each section, one bell ring. The voices of those women were all extremely sweet. From their crimson lips they rapidly uttered awkward syllables. At first it was very orderly, but gradually two dancers’ voices would separate from the main group—first repetition, second repetition, third repetition. By the end, all Yun Ye heard in his ears was “form does not differ from emptiness, emptiness does not differ from form, form is emptiness, emptiness is form.” These few phrases they recited extremely clearly, while the other sentences seemed to become murmurs beside his ears.

He tried hard to hear the scripture clearly, but the result was only the words “empty form, form empty” constantly circling in his mind, as if they wanted to carve the two characters “form” and “emptiness” hard into his brain.

The silver bell rang once. His gaze involuntarily looked toward the center. Those dancers were somehow now sitting in a row before everyone, arms linked with arms, the golden bangles on their arms actually clasped together. Their bodies swayed left and right. Small golden bells hung from their nipples, making a sound like spring silkworms nibbling mulberry leaves on a rainy night. Before them were no longer some fragrant living beauties, but rather a wave of white jade color. The golden bells on the nipples were like the broken gold of the setting sun spread across the water’s surface.

Yun Ye controlled his body, not letting it sway with the dancers’ rhythm. He turned to look at the other wastrels. Fortunately, Li Tai’s gaze was vacant—who knows where his mind had wandered. Zhangsun Chong reclined on a soft couch, the hand holding his wine cup dancing with the rhythm. Cheng Chumo stared wide-eyed, watching with rapt attention. Li Huairen drooled as he looked at the dancers’ chests one by one, probably calculating which were more beautiful.

Several wastrels in the back row were already swaying their bodies high and low with the dancers’ undulations. Chai Lingwu was held down by his shoulders by two wastrels sitting beside him, unable to move…

Someone was blowing on reed leaves, like a resentful woman calling for her beloved to return. Wind blew through cold windows, the cold night silent and lonely. She hugged her chest for warmth. When the song ended, people scattered, and ten thousand calls could not bring him back.

Large teardrops fell from the dancers’ eyes onto their chests, yet their arms shook even more violently. Drum sounds arose, just like the footsteps of the beloved traveling far away, unable to be held back.

The reed pipe had just stopped when Sanskrit chanting rose again. With hearts like dead ashes, walking alone and solitary. At the mountain’s foot was a monk with kind brows and beautiful eyes. He placed his hand on her head for ordination, tolerant and compassionate. The beloved glanced back once at his lovely lady. Her hair fell as she became a monk. The reed pipe rose. Ghosts wept at night. On the southeast branch hung the lovely lady.

“With nothing to attain, the Bodhisattva depends on Prajna Paramita, and the mind has no hindrance. Without any hindrance, no fears exist. Far apart from every perverted view, one ultimately dwells in Nirvana.”

The shrill female voice seemed about to pierce eardrums. The compassionate Buddhist verse was chanted with vicious gloom. The wind blew and the rope broke. The lovely lady revived and vowed to seduce all monks under heaven.

When Takayama Yoko twisted on the ground like a snake, Yun Ye only wanted to help her up—she seemed so anguished. The joints of her shoulders seemed dislocated. Her hair was disheveled across her face. Sweat on her face stuck to several strands of hair. In her eyes was infinite pleading. Chai Lingwu shook his arms vigorously, pushed aside the two people pressing on him, extended his arms toward Takayama Yoko, his face full of pity.

Takayama Yoko’s cheek rubbed against Chai Lingwu’s calf, like a little lamb finding the warmest embrace. Yun Ye saw Takayama Yoko open her mouth and bite hard on Chai Lingwu’s calf. Blood even flowed out, yet that damned Chai Lingwu actually displayed a relieved expression. Bastard, he’d entered the drama just like that? And he wasn’t even the male lead.

More than one person thought the same as Yun Ye. Yun Ye only thought about it, but those bastards were already fighting jealously over her. You hug me, I pull you, rolling together in a heap.

Zhangsun Chong had already closed his eyes. Beads of sweat from several wastrels were dripping down pitter-patter. It looked like they too couldn’t hold out much longer. Cheng Chumo looked around strangely. Li Huairen was thoroughly enjoying appreciating the women’s chests.

Seeing Takayama Yoko stroking back and forth on Chai Lingwu’s body but discovering that this fellow had no reaction, Yun Ye almost laughed out loud. If your seduction is more effective than Sun Simiao’s medicine, I’ll admit defeat. Right now Chai Lingwu was merely confused by the seven emotions—currently he was a guilt-ridden lover. Good luck trying to get a eunuch lover to have a reaction.

That fellow Li Tai could actually take out a charcoal pencil and write and draw on the table. It looked like he was solving an extremely difficult formula. Once this fellow entered his own world, eight oxen couldn’t drag him back.

Seeing Yun Ye also walking over, Takayama Yoko’s eyes filled with laughter. She twisted even more energetically. Just as she was about to grab Yun Ye’s leg, she discovered that Yun Ye had avoided her. He supported the half-dazed Chai Lingwu back to his seat and poured a large jar of strong liquor into him. Now he’d become a drunkard—let’s see if you can still use him as a subject.

He made a gesture at Takayama Yoko to continue and folded his arms across his chest to keep watching the performance. Now he’d figured it out—the Heavenly Demon Dance was indeed quite a good dance. It gave people infinite imaginative space, like a tearjerking movie, except all the scenes were completed through your own mental embellishments.

Stimulated, Takayama Yoko suddenly shrieked. She let down her hair and pulled a hairpin from her head, slashing it across her chest. A foot-long bloody gash immediately appeared on her white bosom, cutting from one bud across to another. Blood beads hung from her nipples, rising and falling unsteadily. If one person cut herself, that would be one thing, but when a whole group all cut themselves, it appeared too spectacular. The air immediately filled with a bloody smell. If one savored it carefully, there was actually also a sweet fragrance.

Sweet fragrance? It wasn’t that he’d never smelled blood before—where did this smell come from? Not good! Yun Ye quickly fastened the pig snout over his mouth and nose and took several long breaths before dispelling that dizzy feeling.

Zhangsun Chong’s reaction was also quick. Cheng Chumo also fastened on his pig snout. Li Huairen sniffed twice and reluctantly put on his pig snout, and helped Li Tai put his on as well.

Only eight people managed to put on pig snouts in time. The rest had already pounced into the dance floor with lewd smiles, circling the dancers like dogs. Only now was the climax of the Heavenly Demon Dance. Those demon women exhausted all their seductive abilities. Yun Ye could even see that the dancers’ mouths still held small white pills. With a secret flick of the tongue, they disappeared.

Wearing his pig snout, Yun Ye certainly couldn’t be called handsome, but his eyes were exceptionally bright. Cheng Chumo leaned close to Yun Ye and shouted in a muffled voice, “This damned Heavenly Demon Dance truly lives up to its reputation. I almost fell into it just now.”

Yun Ye was very disappointed. No evidence—the pills had already been eaten like candy beans by those bastards. They only knew to bury their heads in the women’s chests and nuzzle around. Forget it. Since there wasn’t any danger, it was fine to take some advantage.

Seeing that Yun Ye still had no reaction, Takayama Yoko stamped her feet. The golden bells on her ankles rang chaotically. The drums also began pounding. Somehow another veiled dancer had appeared in the center. Her undulating figure absolutely could not be compared to that of a young girl like Takayama Yoko. Between her gestures and steps, that mature flavor drove people wild. If Takayama Yoko was a demon woman, this woman was absolutely a ghost mother. For the first time, Yun Ye felt his heart beating fiercely. This was what a real woman was.

He wanted to close his eyes but was reluctant to. His heartbeat involuntarily jumped with the rhythm of the bells on the dancer’s feet. Right now he wished he could pounce forward and tear off her veil to get a good look.

Veil? Thinking of this question, Yun Ye was startled with alarm. This must be that beauty whose face was scratched. Li Huairen, who had always preferred mature women, had already pounced into the dance floor like a madman. The pig snout on his face had disappeared. Zhangsun Chong’s face was flushed red, and even his eyes had turned red. Finally, he picked up a wine jug and brought it down on the back of his own head, then lay softly on the brocade couch.

His heart was beating fiercely—thump thump thump—about to jump out of his throat. A chopstick was stuck in Cheng Chumo’s thigh. Li Tai’s hands had begun trembling, and his eyes couldn’t help but glance toward the dance floor.

The pig snout was already full of Yun Ye’s saliva. That sweet fragrance seemed to linger constantly inside. What was this thing that was so domineering? This damned woman’s dance had stirred up the most blazing flames in men’s hearts.

No wonder Peiji had been unlucky. A seventy-year-old man, with his heart beating like a drum, and continuing to beat like this for the time it takes to burn a stick of incense—it would be strange if he didn’t suffer heart failure. Add to that the torment of lust, and living three more days could be attributed to his ancestors’ accumulated virtue.

So enticing—he wanted to go up and hug her waist, wanted to bury his face in her chest and suffocate to death. Either way, it wouldn’t be a wasted trip to the mortal world. As for kissing her mouth?

Better forget it. This woman was very ugly! Yun Ye told himself a thousand reasons not to go near this woman before barely managing to steady his mind.

Yun Ye wouldn’t go over, but that damned woman was walking toward him. She danced as she walked, like a pure young maiden plucking willows by the riverside, taking one shy step, one timid step as she moved closer.

Cheng Chumo gave a great shout and crashed his head through a window, sticking his head outside. Sweat dripped down from his chin pitter-patter.