Chapter Thirteen: The Painted Skin

“Little Fei, do you remember how you passed away?”

Little Fei tilted her head, thought for a long moment, then shook it and said, “I don’t remember.”

Shen Chang’an let out a heavy sigh. If she didn’t know how she’d died, she must also be unaware of any resentment in her heart. Still, as long as Little Fei harbored no grudges, a single recitation of a sutra for salvation would be enough to send her on her way.

Normally, when a soul dies, it is taken away by the underworld envoys. Only those who die unjustly linger in the world. For those like Little Fei, who can’t recall their cause of death, their souls are weak and can be sent to reincarnation with a simple ritual. But if they remember and cannot let go, they become vengeful spirits. Over time, if they gather enough yin energy and malice, they turn into evil ghosts that harm the living. If they continue to kill and devour souls, growing ever more powerful, they become malevolent specters.

With Shen Chang’an’s current abilities, he might have a chance against an evil ghost, but if he encountered a truly malevolent specter, he’d be finished—no hope of even escaping.

Fortunately, the yin aura around here wasn’t too heavy, which meant there were no powerful ghosts nearby. Once he found that yaksha evil spirit, he would deal with it quickly and move on.

After conversing with Little Fei through the night, Shen Chang’an also learned a little about Wang Family Village. Little Fei and her mother were not originally from the village but had moved here from elsewhere and settled down. Something happened afterward, and Little Fei became a wandering spirit, while her mother’s whereabouts were unknown. Little Fei had guarded this dilapidated house for years without ever seeing her mother again.

As for the rest of the village’s affairs, Little Fei could only recount a few rumors from a child’s perspective, giving Shen Chang’an a rough idea but no clear details.

When dawn broke and the sky lightened, Shen Chang’an stood up and whispered his farewell, “Little Fei, in your next life, may you be born into a good family.”

Then he chanted, “All honored ones of the ten heavens, as numerous as dust and sand, take form in all realms, delivering salvation to gods and men alike…”

He had learned this sutra from the old Daoist priest. In the month he’d spent under his tutelage, Shen Chang’an had picked up quite a bit. The innate true qi not only strengthened his body but also his mind, making it easy to memorize even these tongue-twisting scriptures after only hearing them once or twice.

“…Thus ends the recitation; bow to the honored one, make your farewell and depart.” As he finished the last line, Shen Chang’an felt something inside him lighten, as if a layer of fine sand enveloping him had fallen away, and an inexplicable sense of relief filled him.

When he opened his eyes again, Little Fei was waving at him, her figure already beginning to fade.

Shen Chang’an waved back, then gathered his things, intending to return to Wang Family Village to investigate further.

As he stepped out, he suddenly glimpsed a column of black smoke rising from the direction of the village, swirling into the sky and condensing into a terrifying visage—a monstrous ghost’s face—so chilling it made one’s bones freeze.

...

Sizzle—

The last flame was doused with cold water, and several of the village men collapsed to the ground, gasping for breath.

Shen Chang’an stood not far away, silently observing the house reduced to ruins by fire.

“Thank you, Master Daoist, for your timely assistance.”

Someone behind Shen Chang’an gave him a respectful bow.

Turning around, Shen Chang’an waved his hand and replied, “It was nothing.”

“Yesterday, we treated you poorly, yet you still came to help us fight the fire. We are truly ashamed. It’s just a pity that Wang Sheng… we couldn’t save him.”

“Wang Sheng…?” Shen Chang’an echoed the name, a trace of doubt on his face.

“Oh, I forgot to mention. This was the home of Wang Sheng, a descendant of our Wang family. Sadly, he was bewitched by that demon woman and, as expected, met his end today.”

“Demon woman? Has the village encountered a demon before?” Shen Chang’an pressed.

“Well, about that…” The man seemed hesitant.

“Don’t worry. I have some skill in exorcising evil. If there is truly a demon, I am willing to help your village eliminate it.”

After a moment’s thought, the man nodded. “Master Daoist, you haven’t eaten yet, have you? Come to the tavern, have a few dishes with me, and we can talk as we eat.”

...

Shen Chang’an picked up a couple of peanuts with his chopsticks, ate them, washed them down with a cup of strong wine, and silently listened to Wang Yi’s story.

Wang Yi, the man who had spoken with him earlier, was the head of Wang Family Village.

According to him, a few months prior, Wang Sheng had met an unusually seductive woman while out on business. Struck by her beauty, he approached her and struck up a conversation. She claimed to be a concubine of a high official, who had fled her husband’s abuse and come here seeking refuge. She seduced Wang Sheng, who brought her home.

Wang Sheng, a notorious idler who lived off his family’s wealth, was known for his lascivious nature. Naturally, he didn’t let such an opportunity slip by.

Before long, he married the woman. Though villagers were suspicious of her origins, Wang Sheng was determined, and no one could stop him. Afterward, the couple indulged nightly in pleasure.

But one day, Wang Sheng returned home late to find his wife hiding in a room, sketching a human skin with a brush.

“Painting a skin?” Shen Chang’an interrupted, surprised.

“Yes…” Wang Yi sipped his wine and continued, “That woman was a demon with a green face and fangs, who wore human skin to disguise herself. No one could see her true form.”

“Oh, I see… green-faced and fanged—so the demon was green?”

“Of course, green. Terrifying beyond words.”

Shen Chang’an nodded slightly. “And then? What happened?”

Upon discovering his wife’s true nature, Wang Sheng said nothing, but quietly left and sought out Wang Yi. The village gathered its strongest men, and a dozen or so stormed the house together. Although the demon was formidable, she couldn’t withstand so many attackers. If she could, why would she bother to disguise herself rather than slaughter openly?

Surrounded and overwhelmed, the demon was finally hacked to death.

“And the body?” Shen Chang’an pressed.

“It vanished. Once she died, her body turned to ash and disappeared.”

“I see… And what happened to Wang Sheng today?”

Wang Yi’s face darkened, and after a moment he said, “Though the demon was slain, her ghost became even more vicious and haunted Wang Sheng each night. Last night, we searched everywhere but found nothing. We thought all was quiet, but at dawn, his house was set ablaze!”

Shen Chang’an sighed. “Such is the way of the world—these things cannot be helped. My condolences, Brother Wang.”

Just then, a tavern boy brought over a dish, but Wang Yi slapped him hard across the face.

“You wretch!” Wang Yi snapped. “Serving this to Master Lingxiao? Have you no shame?”

Shen Chang’an glanced at the dish on the ground—a stir-fried preserved meat.

“Come now, Brother Wang, don’t be angry,” Shen Chang’an said.

“It is you who mustn’t be upset, Master Daoist. These fools tried to serve you old, moldy meat. It’s disgraceful…”

“It’s no trouble,” Shen Chang’an replied quickly. “We ascetics are content with vegetarian fare and a pot of wine…”

After some polite words and a light meal, they parted. Before leaving, Wang Yi insisted that Shen Chang’an stay at his house that night, which he readily agreed to.

Afterward, Shen Chang’an left the village and walked along a small path, eventually reaching a higher spot on a nearby hill.

The view was good—he could see most of Wang Family Village from here. With a stalk of wild grass between his teeth, Shen Chang’an gazed down at the village, a cold smile slowly appearing on his face.

“Out on business, just happened to meet a beautiful woman? There’s only one official road through the village, and so many people travel it daily. How is it only this lazy Wang Sheng met her and no one else?”

“If he met her in the mountains, that’s even stranger. Wang Sheng the loafer, going up into the mountains for business? And a high official’s concubine, braving the wilds and brambles?”

These mountains were not like those in the modern age. Unmarked paths were overgrown with razor-sharp grass that could easily cut skin, not to mention thorny branches and lurking beasts.

Could a frail concubine walk out of the mountains? Survive the mountains?

“An evil spirit setting fires—how amusing. Do they take me for an amateur Daoist? Even such tales are spun without shame.”

Ghosts, steeped in evil energy, fear heat and fire above all. Unless the evil ghost itself had died in flames, it would never use fire as a weapon—one misstep, and even its own soul would be consumed.

Moreover, Wang Yi thought he could hide the truth, unaware that some people don’t rely on their eyes alone.

Before entering Wang Family Village, Shen Chang’an had used the Jade Talisman of Zhonglong to awaken his sense of smell. Once activated, as long as his magic held out, it could keep running. Most wouldn’t waste their power on this, and Shen Chang’an usually couldn’t bear all the strange scents, but today, he kept it open the whole time until he left the village.

So, when he was at Wang Sheng’s house, he already sensed something was off.

For example, Wang Sheng hadn’t died that day.

Ordinary folk would investigate to determine the time of death; Shen Chang’an only needed a sniff to know. Even though the corpse was already burning, he could detect the difference—especially from the concentrated smell of corpse oil on the ground.

If a person is burned alive, they struggle, and the dripping fat would be scattered. But if burned after death, the body remains still, and the fat pools beneath.

Wang Sheng hadn’t moved at all.

Then there was the lingering scent of liquor. Even as it evaporated, Shen Chang’an caught it—Wang Sheng’s home was saturated with strong wine, far more than a simple hangover could explain.

And that dish served today…

The evil energy wafting from it almost choked him. It was heavy, pungent, nearly unbearable. It didn’t smell like pork or beef…

“Was it a servant’s mistake, or were you testing me?” Shen Chang’an frowned, already suspecting the yaksha evil spirit was deeply connected to Wang Family Village.

But he still couldn’t understand the village’s precise role in all this. Besides, wasn’t the man-eating evil ghost a recent scourge in the area? Yet Wang Sheng’s encounter with the beautiful woman seemed to predate that.

“A ghost that paints its own skin…”

The old Daoist had told him about such things. Some ghosts, lacking the strength to rampage openly, disguised themselves as humans to live among them, quietly stealing souls and drinking blood.

These ghosts excelled at deception but were weak in direct combat, so even a dozen ordinary men could manage to kill one.

Yet, something still felt off. What was Wang Yi’s lie covering up?

Shen Chang’an’s brow furrowed as he gazed down at the village below, an ominous sense of dread swelling in his heart. The simple, honest village now seemed a beast baring its fangs.

Sunlight slanted across Wang Family Village, yet the sun offered no comfort—only a fierce, scorching, almost sinister intensity.

Could even the sun turn strange?

Tightening his pack, Shen Chang’an checked the time and slowly descended the hill, on his way to keep his appointment with Wang Yi.