Chapter 40

39. Qu Li Bai Ma

The paper face’s lips were pressed tight, its expression icy as it stared at the wall’s thangka in silence.

Seeing this, Zhou Chang changed tack: “If you won’t say that, can you at least tell me your name?”

At this, the paper face smiled faintly, looking at Zhou Chang as she lifted her chin slightly, her gaze tinged with pride: “According to Han naming customs, my surname should be Liu.”

“Hmm.” Zhou Chang’s heart stirred slightly.

The fact that she had volunteered her surname meant she had once lived in the Hidden Realm, unlike the vast majority of nameless Hidden Realm dwellers.

Those who bore surnames in the Hidden Realm were usually of noble origin.

“In our native Hidden Realm tongue, my surname is ‘Degé.’”

“My name is Degé·Quli Baima.” The paper face’s expression softened with memory; she seemed to recall something, and the radiance that had briefly lit her face upon mentioning her surname vanished, “Those are all past matters now.

I have no surname anymore.

You may call me ‘Baima.’”

“Alright.”

Zhou Chang committed Baima’s full name to memory, planning to ask local Hidden Realm traders about it when the chance arose.

He rolled up the poster again and tucked it behind his waist, then stepped out of the room and searched another chamber—this one, too, was an empty room housing a thangka of Jambhala.

Zhou Chang left the room and continued forward.

His earlier exchange with Baima had been full of verbal parries and hidden traps, consuming considerable time.

Yet even after so long, he had yet to see any sign of Li Xiamei’s eldest or second daughter.

Had they been delayed by other matters—or were they setting a trap for him right now?

Zhou Chang wasn’t in a hurry; he walked onward, opening nearly every door he passed to inspect the interiors.

After all, opportunities to sneak into the homes of thought-demons and ghost-class entities were rare.

Especially since he’d just probed Baima and learned that Li Xiamei was currently away—her great thought-demon absent, leaving only two minor ghost-class entities behind—Zhou Chang had to seize this chance to search thoroughly.

His meticulous search did indeed yield results.

He pushed open the door to one room; from outside, it appeared ordinary, but stepping inside, one immediately sensed the interior layout had changed—

What looked from without to be a side chamber was, within, unmistakably the main hall.

The walls of the hall were blackened by smoke and soot.

The ceiling beams and rafters were likewise charred by smoke.

A row of long, pitch-black garments hung on the walls beside the door.

On the wall directly opposite the door, a small shrine was nailed one foot above the ground.

The shrine was so low that Zhou Chang noticed it at once.

He stepped closer and saw a brazier before it, its incense ashes still warm.

Before the brazier sat three offerings.

In the central dish lay a head, its skin stripped away, gender indistinguishable; its vivid red muscle and yellow fat glistened with fresh, uncoagulated blood.

In the left dish lay a complete set of cleaned intestines, also taken from a living person.

In the right dish rested a piece of braised skin; the aroma of the brine mingled with the thick stench of blood, seeping into Zhou Chang’s nostrils.

Zhou Chang’s eyes flickered; he looked up and saw the single tablet inside the shrine, one foot above the ground: “Sheng Leng Heichang Feng Si, Divine Banner Altar.”

“Old Feng’s family…” Zhou Chang murmured, pulling the poster from his waist and unfurling it before the skinless head.

He stared at the paper face in the painting and asked: “Li Xiamei’s husband, Old Feng—your adopted father—apparently he’s no longer a thought-demon. He’s become a folk deity with a banner?”

Baima looked into Zhou Chang’s eyes.

His gaze now felt alien to her; she felt a pang of unease, raised her head higher, and her voice grew colder: “Yes.”

“He doesn’t seem to be home today.”

“Most folk deities sleep most of the time, unless they find a body capable of housing their worship.”

A fate like Bai Xiue’s, with such innate potential, is most to their taste.”

Perhaps my adopted father is in this very room now—but without a body to descend into, he can do nothing to you now.

—Even as a folk deity, he’s merely a wandering, one-foot-tall black chang.

Zhou Chang nodded, looked at Baima, and suddenly asked: “Have you ever killed anyone?”

His expression was no longer cold and hard; his tone was casual, almost gentle as he posed the question.

But Baima’s heart lurched; she suddenly felt that her answer would determine whether they became allies or enemies.

After a moment’s hesitation, she spoke honestly: “I’ve never killed anyone yet.

But if the chance arises, I intend to try—see what fun it is to scheme a murder…”

Zhou Chang studied her deeply, treating her last remark as idle chatter.

He placed the three offerings one by one into the brazier, took a firestarter from the corner, and burned them to ash.

Then he seized a bamboo pole behind the door and pulled down one of the hanging “long garments.”

The walls were lined with these pitch-black garments; only when he took one down did he realize they were complete human skins, slit open only along the back.

Inside the tanned skins, faint traces of blood vessels were visible.

Even faint traces of worship-energy flowed sluggishly through those withered vessel patterns.

Zhou Chang immediately understood these skins were not mere decorations for this folk deity’s hall—they had a practical purpose.

“So these are the ghost-skins Li Xiamei’s eldest and second daughters need?” Zhou Chang asked.

Baima’s voice came from behind him: “These are the ‘shells’ thought-demons wear to preserve their minds and blend among humans—not ghost-skins.

When a thought-demon sheds this shell, it becomes the most terrifying ghost-class entity, but unlike minor ghosts, it doesn’t need to wear ghost-skins to move or attack.

These shells were collected over years by Li Xiamei.

She uses them to blend into human society, absorbing human qi to maintain her sanity.

Without these human-skin garments, her sanity would dwindle, she’d grow increasingly mad, and kill indiscriminately according to her unchanging pattern until someone cracked it.

At that point, the thought-demon would fall into ‘dormancy.’

If dormancy lasts too long, people forget the thought-demon, and it gradually ‘dissolves’ into death.”

According to Baima, these ‘shells’ were like thought-demons’ ‘respawns.’

As long as they possessed these shells, even if their killing pattern was cracked or suppressed, they could restore themselves fully.

But if all their shells were gone, with no way to regain sanity, they could be subdued, fall into dormancy, or even die.

Zhou Chang understood Baima’s words, and he took down all the dozen or so ‘thought-demon shells’ from the walls.

“Li Xiamei’s daughters are truly a handful—never give their mother a moment’s peace.

They’ve got the very thing keeping her alive hidden in the house, yet they keep inviting outsiders in!

Now look—” Zhou Chang stared at the pile of thought-demon shells in the center of the room, feigning regret, “these shells are like a firecracker dangling before a child’s eyes, while the child holds a lit incense stick.

—How am I supposed to resist lighting it?”

“The shells are vital to thought-demons. If you burn these shells now, your adopted mother will sense it.

Then she’ll come for you with her two daughters… don’t regret it later.” The paper face smiled sweetly, “Still, stepping into a thought-demon’s home was never easy.

Most people die without ever crossing the threshold. You’re just lucky…”

“Indeed,” Zhou Chang sighed. “Opportunities like this are rare—must be cherished.”

He tossed one shell into the brazier first, set it alight; when multicolored flames surged from the brazier, he hurled the entire pile into the fire!

Whoosh!

The illusory, multicolored flames erupted violently, nearly swallowing the room!

From the eye sockets of every burning shell, multicolored fire poured forth; their wrinkled faces smoothed under the flames, suddenly appearing grotesque!

Black blood streamed down the shrine tablet: “Sheng Leng Heichang Feng Si, Divine Banner Altar.”

All the burning shells shrieked together: “Third daughter! Third daughter!

You deliberately led the thief in—this will be reported to Jambhala!”