Chapter 49: Famed Beauty

No wonder this mansion, though ancient, exuded a unique grandeur—it was once the outer residence of a famed beauty.

Luo Yuni.

This woman was the famed beauty Luo Yuni, who died tragically in her outer residence, as reported in the newspapers.

Is she the spirit of the old lady’s mansion?

Where did these newspapers come from?

What connection did Luo Yuni have with the old lady?

Seeing Li Banfeng hesitate to speak her name, Luo Yuni seemed to understand his concern.

“You want to know what happened next?”

DONG! DONG! DONG! The grandfather clock struck eleven times, its pendulum swaying as the scene shifted and Luo Yuni continued her tale.

The killer who murdered her was dead, his body lying on the floor.

Luo Yuni sat beside the corpse, still carefully applying her makeup.

The man’s body was taken away, but soon after, he returned—holding an eyebrow pencil, attempting to draw her brows.

This was clearly no living man—he was the man’s ghost.

Luo Yuni didn’t even glance at him; she waved her hand casually, sending him flying out the window.

Outside the window stood a willow tree, and the man hung there, suspended from its branches.

Luo Yuni continued her grooming, letting time pass, her smile always enchanting.

The man, hanging from the tree, stared obsessively at Luo Yuni in the house, day after day.

After an unknown length of time, a young couple moved into the mansion.

The husband wore a white shirt and black suspenders, leaving early and returning late, seemingly holding a respectable job.

The wife busied herself with household chores, never once noticing the other woman—the one who sat before the old grandfather clock, meticulously applying her makeup.

She couldn’t see her.

Unless Luo Yuni chose to reveal herself, Li Banfeng couldn’t see her either.

Life was quiet, even sweet—until one day the husband saw Luo Yuni applying her makeup, and everything ceased to feel sweet.

He felt his wife was not beautiful at all; compared to a true beauty, his wife had never been beautiful to begin with.

Luo Yuni looked at the man with pity, gently extending her arm and offering him the comb.

The man was overwhelmed with excitement.

He carefully took the comb from Luo Yuni’s hand; combing her hair once became the most cherished achievement of his life.

Li Banfeng could not understand his thoughts, could not comprehend the obsession and rapture on the man’s face.

The man repeatedly combed Luo Yuni’s hair, unwilling to miss a single strand.

Until Luo Yuni grew weary, cast him a glance, and he reluctantly set the comb down.

After putting down the comb, the man picked up the eyebrow pencil, wanting to draw her brows.

Luo Yuni shook her head, her figure gradually fading.

She left, leaving the man standing there, clutching the eyebrow pencil, lost and helpless.

He stared blankly at the grandfather clock all day, indifferent to his wife’s complaints and tears.

One day, he drove the eyebrow pencil into his temple—again and again—his face twisted in pain and a grotesque smile.

He saw Luo Yuni again; as long as he kept driving the pencil into his temple, he could be with Luo Yuni.

He held the bloodied eyebrow pencil, trying to draw her brows.

His wife saw this, screamed, and fled the house—but she couldn’t escape the courtyard.

The ghost hanging from the willow tree whipped its branches, wrapping her up and dragging her back inside.

No wonder these willows prevented anyone from leaving the mansion—each tree bore the corpses of ghosts, all slaves to Luo Yuni.

Her husband had stabbed himself to death with the eyebrow pencil.

She was bound by the willow branches until midnight, then had her throat slit by Luo Yuni’s short knife.

The wife died, the blade stained with blood—yet the blood vanished instantly.

The scene froze. Luo Yuni softly spoke to Li Banfeng: “This knife loves to drink blood at midnight; the more blood it drinks, the sharper it becomes.

I spent three years uncovering its secret. That old woman spent thirty years—and saw nothing.

When we first met, I told you this secret. Isn’t that enough sincerity?”

Luo Yuni smiled even more enchantingly, but Li Banfeng’s attention was not on her smile.

“You’re lying,” Li Banfeng shook his head. “The old lady knows the knife’s secret. She didn’t kill me immediately—she kept me alive until midnight precisely to let this knife drink my blood.”

Luo Yuni laughed: “That’s because I told her this secret last night. Didn’t you notice? Even her two sons don’t understand why you were kept until midnight—because the old woman hadn’t had time to tell them.

That old woman is just that foolish. If I hadn’t told her, she’d never have figured it out in her lifetime. To cultivate alongside her is an insult and torment to me.”

Li Banfeng asked: “Then why did you choose her?”

Luo Yuni shook her head: “I didn’t choose her—she chose me. She was the only mansion cultivator I ever met. She spoke my name.

Before I met her, I was merely a resentful spirit. With her invocation, I became a mansion spirit.”

Li Banfeng’s eyes brightened: “How does one summon a mansion spirit?”

Luo Yuni raised an eyebrow: “Don’t you know how? Aren’t you a mansion cultivator too?”

Li Banfeng raised his eyebrow in return: “You noticed?”

Luo Yuni burst into laughter: “How could I not notice? Every move you make in this mansion escapes my eyes.

You possess a special mansion—visible to no ordinary person, not even to ordinary mansion spirits.

But I am not ordinary. I can see it. I know you have a key that opens your mansion. That’s why, after returning to your mansion, you quickly cured the poison De Cai gave you.”

Hearing this, Li Banfeng realized: unless absolutely necessary, he must never enter another mansion cultivator’s residence.

Luo Yuni asked softly: “Do you wish to cultivate a mansion spirit? Why go through so much trouble? I’m willing to be yours. I’m already here—why refuse me?”

Li Banfeng frowned: “Then why didn’t you tell me how to cultivate a mansion spirit?”

Luo Yuni shook her head: “It’s time-consuming and useless.”

Li Banfeng lowered his gaze: “Your concealment proves your sincerity toward me is insufficient!”

Luo Yuni sighed: “Very well. I’ll comply with you.”

The pendulum swung, and the story within the glow continued.

The spirits of the husband and wife hung from the willow trees, staring obsessively at Luo Yuni.

After countless years, over a dozen households moved into the mansion. None stayed long—they all died at Luo Yuni’s hands, their spirits hanging from the willows surrounding the courtyard.

As the perspective shifted, Li Banfeng was astonished by the courtyard’s size—it was far larger than the one he had seen.

Another family moved in: a weary woman, around thirty, arrived with two children.

The old lady?

The woman entered the mansion, stayed a few days, and her gaunt cheeks gradually filled out; her pale skin regained a hint of color.

Her once dull eyes grew sharp; she gained strength in her household chores.

She had bonded with the mansion—Li Banfeng had experienced something similar.

While cleaning and dusting the main hall, she would sniff around, as if sensing something unusual.

While cooling off in the courtyard, she would gaze up at the surrounding willows, as if perceiving the ghosts hanging from them.

She often fell into deep thought, and the entire mansion seemed to grow quieter, deeper, as she did.

One day, she brought back several bundles of old newspapers, carefully flipping through each page.

She selected a dozen, studying the news articles and every photograph within.

Many words she couldn’t read—but she recognized the photographs.

This was the mansion in the newspaper.

Late at night, she put her two children to sleep in the eastern room, then went alone to the main hall.

She lit a candle, staring intently at the grandfather clock.

She held her breath—the house fell utterly silent.

Li Banfeng observed every movement of the woman, realizing that staring at the clock was the key.

In her pupils, the clock’s reflection was clearly visible.

He faintly heard her heartbeat slow, the entire house trembling in rhythm with it, the willows outside trembling with the house.

They merged.

Li Banfeng sensed from the light and shadow that the woman had fused with the mansion.

This was the power of a mansion cultivator.

DONG! DONG! DONG!

The bell rang, and the clock in the woman’s eyes gained spirit—she sensed the mansion spirit’s presence.

The woman drew a deep breath and called out her name: “Luo Yuni!”

DONG!

Eleven-thirty.

One bell toll.

Luo Yuni’s voice echoed in Li Banfeng’s ear: “She heard the bell. From that moment, I became her mansion spirit.”

Li Banfeng asked: “Didn’t you confirm it with her face to face?”

In the scenes Li Banfeng had seen, Luo Yuni had never appeared alongside the woman.

Luo Yuni’s laughter rang out: “For thirty years, I never let her see my true face or hear my voice. At most, I gave her hints. Even glancing at her longer made me feel disgusted.”

She devoted herself entirely to pleasing me; seven out of ten of these souls hanging from the trees were given to me by her. I never felt gratitude toward her, and besides, this was her livelihood anyway.

Training with her was purely out of necessity. My comprehension far surpasses hers, and my cultivation level is far higher. I could have raised her to a higher realm, but I only let her reach the first level, because I despise her.

Li Banfeng was also curious about this: why, at her age, was she still stuck at the first level? “Isn’t it said that one gains a level every ten years of cultivation? She’s cultivated for thirty years—why is she still at the first level?”

Luo Yujun shook her head slightly and said, “You’re strange. When you kill, you act like a seasoned killer, but when you speak, you sound like a greenhorn.”

Cultivators who follow the path step by step, without missteps or errors, take ten years to advance one level.

How many cultivators can claim they made no missteps in those ten years? How many can swear they committed no errors? Among all cultivators, only a handful manage to advance from the first to the second level within a decade.

Li Banfeng asked, “What error did the old woman make that kept her from reaching the second level after thirty years?”

Luo Yujun laughed. “Her error lies with me. If the master and the spirit are not in harmony, the spirit suppresses the master. That old woman disgusts me—let her cultivate for a hundred more years, she’ll never rise past the first level.”

Indeed!

Indeed, cultivating while lying at home isn’t so easy.

Both the peddler and Ma Wu had said that the spirit is the key to the master’s cultivation—if the master and spirit are at odds, the master’s progress will stall.

Here, Luo Yujun sighed deeply. “You don’t know how repulsive that old woman is. For thirty years, she hasn’t taken a man, and she won’t let her own sons touch a woman. Even if I spoke one word to her two sons, she’d go mad.”

She wouldn’t even let her two sons leave the compound—she forced them to spend their entire lives cooped up inside this house with her.

Her eldest son, De Cai, had trained in martial arts since childhood and wanted to buy medicine from the peddler to become a Wu Xiu. The old woman forbade it. At thirty-five, she forced him into Poison Cultivation. De Cai couldn’t read well; he fumbled through a few old books, mixing potions haphazardly and nearly poisoned himself to death.

Her second son, De Mao, also trained in martial arts, but she forbade it too. He was luckier—he secretly bought Wu Xiu medicine through Jiang Xiang’s connections and reached the first level last year. But without guidance, he could only learn forms from books. When he faced you, who fights without set patterns, he had no chance but to die.

Facing such a repulsive person, I’ve longed every day for her to leave this house. Why should I let her advance in cultivation?”

Li Banfeng nodded. “That’s truly repulsive. Just hearing it makes me feel sick.”

But why didn’t she just kill the old woman?

Isn’t there precedent for spirits killing their masters?

Li Banfeng held back this question.

All the images vanished, leaving only Luo Yujun, facing Li Banfeng as she dressed at her vanity. She smiled seductively and said to him:

“Ever since you entered this house, I knew you were my true master.

If I unleashed my full power, you couldn’t defeat that old woman—not the slightest chance.

But I’ve taken to you. Say my name, and I’m yours. Come on—I’m waiting for you, Master!”

To any other man, that cry of “Master” would have shattered all resistance.

But Li Banfeng remained unmoved. He shook his head without speaking.

Luo Yujun frowned slightly. “Don’t you want me?”

“It’s not that I don’t want you,” Li Banfeng said, shaking his head.

Luo Yujun pondered for a moment, trying to guess his thoughts: “You don’t want this livelihood. You saved that mother and daughter—you’re a kind man.

I also despise this livelihood. I’m tired of killing. I’ll dispel every soul in this house if you take me. I’m willing to live a hard, simple life with you.”

Luo Yujun slowly extended her hand toward Li Banfeng.

Li Banfeng did not take it. He quietly stepped away from his position facing the grandfather clock.

The grandfather clock is Luo Yujun’s true form, but her soul isn’t always inside it.

For instance, not now.

Visually, Li Banfeng was speaking to Luo Yujun.

But in the reflection of the pendulum, both Li Banfeng and Luo Yujun were facing the grandfather clock, in the same room.

In other words, they were likely seated in the exact same spot, very close together.

At this moment, Luo Yujun’s soul was beside—or behind—Li Banfeng.

PS: Today I wrote eight thousand characters in anger—vote for Shala and leave a comment!

(End of Chapter)