Chapter 39

38, Wealth Treasure King

Om...

As Zhou Chang finished speaking, strands of iron thought-silk slipped from his fingertips, coiling instantly around the transverse bone he held.

Hmph...

He moved swiftly, but before he could act, the paper-face let out a soft hum; a drifting, icy wind swept through Zhou Chang’s fingers, like a woman’s smooth black hair.

Zhou Chang grasped nothing.

The transverse bone he had ensnared showed no abnormality.

In the hollow of his ring, Aoduoji also let out a few dejected whimpers.

“I hid so well, even my nourishing qi was fully contained—how could you possibly have found me?”

“Where did you learn such a technique?”

The paper-face’s smiling voice came again from the side.

Zhou Chang turned toward the sound and saw a faded, curled poster stuck to a wall caked with grime.

The poster depicted a woman with fashionable wavy hair, an oval face, and large eyes—her bright gaze flickered, clad in a form-fitting qipao that, even in this yellowed poster, could not hide her exquisite beauty.

In the upper right corner of the poster were two lines of artistic script:

“Die Shuang Brand Powder.”

“A snow-white complexion, naturally sourced and rare—a miraculous beauty product, a social essential.”

“Portrait of Ms. Zhang Xueli.”

The “Ms. Zhang Xueli” in the poster now met Zhou Chang’s gaze, extending slender, long fingers to caress her own face—then her nails suddenly sank into her cheek, tearing open the oval face with its bright, expressive eyes.

Beneath the peeled skin of Ms. Zhang Xueli appeared the paper-face: slender eyebrows, phoenix eyes, a proud, delicate nose.

Her jet-black hair spilled over her cheeks, interwoven with braids adorned with turquoise, red, and yellow gemstones.

She wore a bright red, right-lapped silk robe, similar yet distinct from Han clothing, embroidered with lavish flowers; a long “yajin” pendant, strung with heavenly beads, agate, ancient jade, turquoise, and other treasures, hung down to her waist.

Dressed in such an expensive Tibetan robe, the paper-face bore a vastly different aura from the version reflected on Bai Xiue’s face.

Now, the paper-face in the poster was breathtakingly beautiful, her gaze radiant.

“What a wonderful painting...

I’ll take it home and hang it by my bed!”

Even Zhou Chang marveled at the increasingly radiant paper-face in the painting; he stepped forward and reached to peel the poster from the wall.

As his fingertips touched the poster, strands of thought-silk began to spread across its surface.

The beauty in the painting remained vivid: “Why waste your effort, my lord?

This painting holds only a single strand of my ‘thought-echo’—a thought-echo is like smoke; even if you grasp it, it will slip through your fingers...

Instead, use that energy to think carefully: how will you handle my righteous mother’s eldest and second daughters?

The one you blinded earlier was merely her useless second daughter—especially since she hadn’t yet donned her ‘ghost skin.’ It was no great feat to wound her.

But when she and her elder sister both don their ghost skins and come for you, your situation will be dire.

Zhou Chang pressed his hand against the poster, locking eyes with the beauty within.

He listened, then blinked: “Can you lead me to the ghost skins of your elder and second sisters?”

“I’m their sister, after all—how could I betray them?”

“You’ve already betrayed them once—what’s one more time?”

“...Nonsense.”

“Look at you—speaking one thing, thinking another!” Zhou Chang watched the paper-face’s expression grow cold; he smirked. “You clearly didn’t want your second sister to kill me—that’s why you pretended to help her, while secretly teaming up with me to trap her.

I can tell truth from falsehood just fine.”

Zhou Chang’s earlier threat to overturn the table and force the paper-face into submission was real—and so was the paper-face’s leniency, allowing him to sever the second daughter’s head.

Added to this, the paper-face’s current subtle hint confirmed Zhou Chang’s suspicion: her true aim was never to deliver him to Li Xiamei’s home for slaughter—she had another purpose.

With this thought, Zhou Chang did not wait for the paper-face’s reply; he asked: “Where is Li Xiamei now?”

The paper-face, about to speak, clamped her lips shut and said nothing.

“Oh, Li Xiamei isn’t home.”

Zhou Chang instantly understood her silence; he nodded. “So you brought me here on purpose—to lure me into killing her whole family. What a loyal adopted daughter you are!”

He deliberately mimicked Sichuan dialect, turning “ Zhenxiaren ” into “ Zhenharen .”

The paper-face’s eyebrows arched in fury: “Lies! Lies!”

Zhou Chang’s expression smoothed into its usual blank mask. He tore the poster from the wall, rolled it up, and tucked it into the small of his back; then he picked up his dagger and stepped out of the room.

The paper-face in the poster wrinkled her nose in disgust—but did not dissolve into smoke.

Zhou Chang’s thought-silk and Bai Xiue’s lotus-silk shared the same origin; though Zhou Chang’s had evolved, it had not strayed from its root.

Just as Bai Xiue’s lotus-silk could not fully trap the paper-face, neither could Zhou Chang’s thought-silk.

Outside the room, the night was pitch-black.

Zhou Chang stepped out, crossed the brick-paved alley, turned, and kicked open the door of the room on the right, stepping inside.

The dimly lit room was empty, save for an altar table placed directly opposite the door.

On the altar stood unlit incense and candles.

On the wall hung a painted deity—its colors rich, heavy, and intricate, unmistakably not of Central Plains style.

It was mounted in the center of a yellow silk backing embroidered with ingot patterns, with two silk ribbons hanging from either side.

The deity in the painting was golden, with one head and two arms, wearing a five-Buddha crown, clad in golden armor, and adorned with countless jewels and ornamental pendants.

In his left hand he held a pagoda; in his right, a giant black-furred rat, from whose mouth poured gold coins, copper cash, and other treasures.

Beneath the deity’s seat crouched a snow-white lion.

“Wealth Treasure King...”

Zhou Chang stared at the painted deity and murmured.

The deity in the painting was indeed the Wealth Treasure King.

In Han Buddhist tradition, he was known as the All-Hearing King.

But the painting on the wall was not the Han-style All-Hearing King—it was the Wealth Treasure King from Tibetan thangka.

Zhou Chang recognized the deity because Qingyi Town bordered the Tibetan region, where Tibetan traders frequently passed through.

The fame of the Wealth Treasure King, lord of riches, had spread far and wide.

Even the paper-face’s attire, revealed in the poster, was Tibetan in style.

She must have been a native of the Tibetan region in life—now entangled with Li Xiamei’s family.

And Li Xiamei’s family, it seemed, had some connection to the “Wealth Treasure King.”

“Wealth Treasure King, Nata Egg Sheath, Lotus Divine Essence, Paper-Face, Old Feng, Bai Xiue...”

One by one, names flashed through Zhou Chang’s mind; fragments of clues once disconnected due to missing pieces now snapped into place, triggered by the sight of the “Wealth Treasure King” painting in Li Xiamei’s home.

“The Wealth Treasure King seeks to bring forth Nezha—using a corpse-soul as an egg sheath and a ghost lotus as divine essence.

When essence and egg unite, Nata shall be born...” Zhou Chang’s mind blazed with clarity.

He pulled the poster from his lower back, unfurled it, and held it so the beauty faced the Wealth Treasure King thangka; he spoke: “My wife, do you recognize it?”