Chapter 35: The Person in the Painting

A thread of coldness stirred Feng Xue slightly awake; seeing where he was, he felt momentarily disoriented.

Looking at the distant rolling mountains, the river surging before him, the dim moon hidden among clouds, and the fine snow falling like star dust, Feng Xue couldn't shake the feeling that something was off.

Stepping across the stony riverbank, Feng Xue walked slowly; he didn't know where he was going, but he knew staying put wouldn't change a thing.

Sparse but tenacious weeds began sprouting from rock crevices; a few painted boats drifted down the river, where scholars and beauties drank and amused themselves, while an old man sat quietly fishing by the shore.

Further ahead, the rocky shore gave way to grassland, and the path grew busier—poor folk carried loads on poles, the wealthy rode in carts, shepherd boys occasionally blew flutes in the hills, and by a small stream spilling from the river, children played while women washed clothes.

Ancient style, ancient charm, Feng Xue walked along the path, his awareness growing clearer; suddenly he squinted, walked to the riverbank, and spoke to the back of a young wife sitting by the stream, wearing coarse cloth and a headcloth, bending to pick vegetables:

"Having fun yet? Get on with it—once you're done, I'm going back to sleep."

The young wife, her back turned to Feng Xue, stiffened; the entire world froze as if time had paused. She turned around, revealing a face of ethereal beauty; her headcloth dissolved like frost evaporating, her black hair cascaded like a waterfall, and her coarse clothing transformed like a Sichuan opera mask change—in the instant her hair swept past, it became a plain ruqun.

"Why'd you know it was me?" came the cold, flat voice from the woman; her speech wasn't like the near-Mandarin of Ping'an County, but carried a distinct accent—harsh and icy words, yet softened by the dialect into something sweet and melodic.

Feng Xue didn't dwell on it; he suppressed a smile and spoke as calmly as he could:

"You're out of frame."

"Out of frame? What's that?" The woman didn't understand; Feng Xue had no intention of explaining, merely pointed at the stream, then at the vegetable basket, barely holding back laughter:

"They're inside the painting. You're not."

To his surprise, this cryptic remark struck a nerve; she sprang up, her cold voice now tinged with anger:

"What do you mean 'not inside'? I'm right here!"

"They live inside the painting. You… you just flattened yourself and stuck onto it." Feng Xue forced out words meant to sound profound, but couldn't stop his lips from curling.

No help—it seemed this female ghost was dim-witted. The entire Illusion was executed brilliantly, saturated with classical Chinese aesthetic grace, yet she herself looked like she'd been cut from another painting and pasted in—though her edges were decent, proportions, angles, and countless details felt subtly wrong. When picking vegetables, her hand completely covered the greens; even the flowing water vanished beneath her, like a Photoshop newbie who didn't understand layer order, ruining the entire Illusion's atmosphere.

But precisely because of this, Feng Xue had fully awakened from the discordance, unlike in the fox spirit temple, where he'd needed enough sweat for two ghosts to bathe in before noticing anything amiss.

Yet Feng Xue's words left the ghost stunned; she froze for over ten seconds, her pale skin flushing crimson. Suddenly, Feng Xue felt the world spin—and only a furious shout reached his ears—

"Get out!"

…

"Whir!" Feng Xue jolted awake, feeling the night's chill, shivering involuntarily, then glared and muttered:

"Damn it, you turned heaven upside down, huh?"

Feng Xue now knew he'd been dragged into the Illusion by the spirit within the painting—but his cultivation was too shallow; he couldn't even master spirit control, let alone drag the ghost out and spank her. He sighed, deciding to seek revenge once his cultivation advanced.

Though wrapped in a sleeping bag, the night was indeed chilly; after waking, Feng Xue found it hard to fall back asleep, so he whispered softly:

"Yunxi… Yunxi! Liu Yunxi!"

Startled awake by Feng Xue's call, Liu Yunxi responded quickly, clearly tense; Feng Xue was exasperated that this idiot snake still hadn't gotten used to being called by name, but pressed on:

"How much do you know about ghosts?"

"Huh?" Liu Yunxi hadn't expected him to wake her up at midnight for this—but given her massive debt, she swallowed her complaints and answered obediently:

"Not much. Just what I heard from the Fox Immortal Grandma."

"Then tell me what you know." Feng Xue tightened the sleeping bag's opening, wriggled like a caterpillar to the tent flap; Liu Yunxi gathered her thoughts and explained:

"Ghosts are the lingering forms of living souls, their attachments forming their shells. Without physical bodies, their attachments slowly fade…"

"I know that—Jiu Gu said it already. Tell me something I don't know—like ghost ranks, Cultivation Methods, that sort of thing." Feng Xue rudely interrupted; Liu Yunxi could only reorganize her words:

"You know about Xuanxiu Sect practitioners becoming ghost immortals—so you're asking about the corrupted ones, right?"

"Mm." Feng Xue grunted, responding like someone half-asleep to a bedtime story.

Liu Yunxi had no patience left; she obediently continued:

"Newly dead wild ghosts have limited power—they can't even be seen by the living, only barely enter dreams when people sleep. The Underworld occasionally permits ghosts who did good deeds in life to communicate with descendants through dreams."

"Some ghosts unwilling to go to the Netherworld use dreams to make mortals suffer nightmares, feeding on their fear (negative wishes) to sustain themselves."

"Others, unsatisfied with merely absorbing wishes, drain essence, blood, and vital energy too—using the living's flesh and yang qi to balance their own yin, cultivating this way. These are what we usually call 'ghosts'—commonly known as 'evil ghosts.' The two in the fox spirit temple were this level."

"But evil ghosts are weak—no physical form, only capable of illusions. A third-rate martial artist's blood qi can repel them, and they can't move during daylight."

"Yet as they absorb more yang qi, evil ghosts gradually gain supernatural abilities—moving objects with spiritual thought, gaining resistance to ordinary martial artists' blood qi, even using the martial artist's qi to cultivate. At this stage, their eyes glow red; the deeper the hue, the stronger they are—generally called 'fierce ghosts' or 'red-eyed fierce ghosts.'"

"If a red-eyed fierce ghost continues cultivating, their entire body glows red—called 'red-robed vengeful ghosts.' At this level, even ordinary ghost immortals cannot oppose them; their ghostly aura can corrode spiritual power and blood qi. Only top-tier Xuanxiu Sect masters or Underworld ghost kings can suppress them. Fortunately, our demon qi suppresses yin-based ghost entities—no need for a demon king; any accomplished great demon can suppress a red-robed vengeful ghost."

Here, Liu Yunxi paused, as if suddenly guilty, then added weakly:

"Of course, our demon qi is also suppressed by spiritual power and blood qi…"

The dialect in this chapter merely indicates character traits; later chapters will use Mandarin. Just know this girl speaks Wu dialect (though not standard Wu—every ten li has different accents, let alone another world).

PS: Regarding the Hutian Bag—this is Jiu Gu's business. Not only would she never damage her reputation by incurring karmic debt, but from the protagonist's perspective, he wouldn't care much.

First, the risk is low: the yin bag kept at Jiu Gu's only bears the cost—it doesn't store items from the yang bag in the yin bag. Even if Jiu Gu stops the spell, the Hutian Spell simply fails and the contents fall out—no actual loss. Buying it, however, grants convenience for short trips. The protagonist earns money easily—he still has a few watches and some gold beans. Why not buy it?

As for the ancestral incense ash—how to put it? A shaman uses her ancestral spirit to trick a newbie? What's her motive? Money? She'd return half the gold beans she's given. His life? Then why not just kill him? Because of gang pressure? A shaman who'd bend her principles under gang coercion would've quit long ago.

So for the protagonist, Jiu Gu is relatively trustworthy—and believing her won't cause major problems.

Conversely, he doesn't trust the broker. Even if he were short on cash, he wouldn't break the lease—the broker's probability of betraying him is too high.

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(End of Chapter)