Wei Xun entered the morgue. Like the Hall of Inevitable Impermanence, the floor had square lime pits dug out, and the floating corpse was placed in one of the pits. The moisture had been absorbed by the lime. A water clock for keeping time and a soul-calming mirror hung on the wall, with a brazier of rich sandalwood incense burning nearby to dispel odors.

He began using breath-holding techniques upon entering and circled around the target. This corpse had swollen to three times the size of a living person, with a head as large as a bushel basket and legs as thick as urns. It no longer looked human, resembling a twisted giant with only vague traces of male characteristics remaining.

Bao Zhu called out from the doorway: “It’s not a girl, is it?”

Unable to speak while holding his breath, Wei Xun knew she was afraid being alone. After thinking it over, he gave up holding his breath and called back: “It’s a man.”

Due to bloating and decay, the clothing on the corpse was severely damaged. There were no obvious birthmarks or tattoo traces on the exterior, just several large putrefied wounds. Wei Xun poked at them with the tree branch—the skin and muscle collapsed at the slightest touch.

Guan Chuan said: “These ruptures were caused when retrieving the body. There are no obvious fatal external injuries on the body itself.”

Wei Xun nodded and continued his detailed examination. The corpse’s hands and feet showed ligature-like putrefied wounds, with half a strip of tanned grass rope embedded in the right wrist.

After pondering for a while, he dropped the branch and walked out of the morgue.

Bao Zhu hurriedly asked: “How was it? Any discoveries?”

Wei Xun exhaled and took fresh air before speaking: “Based on the current temperature, he’s been dead about three to four days. No obvious external injuries on the body, mucus foam around the mouth and nose, water plants clutched in his hands—should be death by drowning. As for the corpse’s identity, it really could be Wu Guancheng himself.”

Bao Zhu asked: “How can you tell?”

Wei Xun said: “Besides the hair length, the second finger of his right hand shows deformation from years of holding brushes. All ten fingernails have residual multicolored paint in the crevices. After soaking in water for so long, the colors still haven’t dissolved or fallen off—either it’s from years of painting that seeped in and can’t be washed out, or it’s a type of paint that doesn’t dissolve in water.”

Guan Chuan asked: “So the cause of death was ordinary drowning?”

Wei Xun said: “The strange thing is right here. Although the person drowned, there are binding marks on the hands and feet. If you say he was restrained and thrown into the pool to drown alive, there are no friction wounds at the binding sites from struggling to survive. The ligature marks were formed naturally when the binding materials sank into the swollen flesh after death.”

Bao Zhu murmured: “Binding marks but no struggle marks? Was he tied too tightly?”

Wei Xun added: “The binding material was tanned fine grass rope, commonly used in markets to tie light goods. Although tough, it’s completely insufficient to restrain a grown man—it would break with a slight struggle.”

If Fourth Brother Qiu Ren were here, he might have cut open the corpse to examine the internal organs, but Wei Xun didn’t want to get covered in corpse stench and simply gave up.

The three of them had no leads. Guan Chuan turned back to close the door, and the group returned to the Hall of Inevitable Impermanence.

If the nameless floating corpse was Wu Guancheng himself, how did he set up the water painting illusion after death and make himself and the “Hell Transformation” painting surface from the water on Ghost Festival night?

If the deceased wasn’t Wu Guancheng but he had deliberately created this ruse, why would he set up such a grotesque and terrifying corpse painting? Had he truly become possessed, progressing from painting corpses to killing people for art?

Suicide, murder, or accident?

Bao Zhu had no clues. Her gaze wandered around the great hall, catching sight of the mural of the newly dead beauty, which she still found very distasteful. She immediately averted her eyes and looked toward the donor statue in the corner.

She casually asked: “This donor is himself a monk—why did he additionally fund the construction of a Buddhist temple? Who is he?”

Tan Lin sat in meditation with closed eyes, refusing to answer: “Cannot be spoken.”

Bao Zhu was displeased and stood up, saying to Wei Xun: “Sitting here doing nothing won’t make the corpse talk. Better to go out and look around for clues.”

Wei Xun immediately got up to accompany her out.

Once far from the Hall of Inevitable Impermanence, escaping the stench hidden beneath the sandalwood, Bao Zhu took a deep breath of fresh air and said: “Even if the vegetarian food is delicious and there are hot springs, I don’t want to stay in this temple one more day. I feel like everything stinks.”

Wei Xun reminded her: “Go wash your face and rinse your nasal passages thoroughly—it will get better.”

Bao Zhu looked around, seeing no one following, and said in a low voice: “The corpse drowned but has no struggle marks. When people were trampling each other on the platform, Guan Chuan used his lion’s roar to intimidate the crowd. Even from that distance, I felt dizzy and nauseous. Could he have used this technique to knock out Wu Guancheng, then thrown him into the pool to drown?”

Wei Xun said: “I also considered this possibility just now, but an expert of his caliber has a hundred ways to kill someone. Roaring until someone’s heart and courage shatter and they die suddenly would be easy—there might be bleeding from the seven orifices, but the exterior similarly wouldn’t show obvious wounds. There’s no need for such troublesome methods, much less binding with grass rope.”

Bao Zhu suddenly remembered something: “That story Tan Lin told at the Ghost Festival dharma assembly about ‘The Zen Master Converting an Asura’—could ‘Asura’ refer to Chen Shigu? If it wasn’t you, which other disciple would have been present to hear his sermon?”

Wei Xun shrugged: “Old Chen’s version wasn’t so complicated. He said he killed a troublesome Sanskrit monk many years ago and obtained a martial arts manual—that simple.”

Bao Zhu said: “For Tan Lin to be willing to preach specifically for you before ten thousand people and write you a fortune poem first shows extreme regard. Very strange—he seems particularly concerned about this person Chen Shigu. Even with the bond of passing the examination in the same year, it wouldn’t warrant remembering him obsessively for over forty years.”

Wei Xun said: “The people at Canyang Academy couldn’t wait to forget him immediately. When they finally outlasted his death, everyone breathed a sigh of relief. Who would have any bond with someone like that?”

After much thought, Bao Zhu felt this matter wasn’t simple. She said uneasily: “Guan Chuan was also once a martial world person. Could it be… could it be that Tan Lin wants to take this opportunity to persuade you to convert to Buddhism? Then he’d have guardian protectors on both left and right!”

Thinking of Tan Lin’s overwhelming eloquence and his deep, worldly-wise composure, Bao Zhu felt angry and vaguely afraid. She specifically warned: “This person is too greedy. He already has a lion but still wants to steal my lynx. Whatever grand principles he speaks, don’t believe him. Old monks chanting sutras—don’t listen, don’t listen!”

Wei Xun laughed: “What? You plan to become a nun yourself but won’t allow me to consider monastic thoughts?”

“Ah… uh…”

Bao Zhu was momentarily speechless, realizing she was indeed being somewhat unfair. Although the team already had one young novice monk—Wei Xun’s junior martial brother—for some reason, she extremely disliked associating him with entering the Buddhist path. So she found another approach, thinking she had a particularly compelling reason, and earnestly persuaded: “Let me tell you, if you shaved your head bald, you definitely wouldn’t look as good as you do now.”

Wei Xun immediately felt his ears growing warm and couldn’t help feeling grateful for his hair covering, otherwise if his scalp reddened too, it would be too hard to conceal.

He steadied himself and said: “Then how about this—we make an agreement. You keep your hair, and I’ll keep mine.”

Hearing this, Bao Zhu found the trade very much to her liking and nodded with satisfaction.

This time the two chose another route for patrol, with the walls along the way still covered in murals. The ancient temple was silent as if uninhabited in the deep night, with bizarre and fantastical images covering every wall. On this special night, those imagined demons and spirits seemed to have all come alive.

After two days of exposure to paintings, the two could easily recognize Wu Guancheng’s work among the many pieces.

His personal characteristics were very distinctive. First, no obvious outline strokes, using only color blocks for composition. Second, particularly vivid colors, much more brilliant than traditional light color washes, so thick you could feel the accumulated paint traces when touching. Third, extremely lifelike, abandoning impressionistic style for complete realism, from facial expressions to muscle and bone textures, all vivid and lifelike.

Even more particularly eerie: the eyes of ghosts and gods shone with light like real people, their gazes even seeming to turn following the observer’s attention.

This phenomenon made even Wei Xun feel somewhat strange. Bao Zhu said: “Wu Daozi uniquely created two pigments called ‘zengqing’ and ‘biyu’ specifically for coloring the eyes of gods and Buddhas in paintings, producing similar magical effects that no one could match. Competition among Chang’an painters was extremely fierce—whoever could develop new techniques and colors could achieve stunning success before the imperial family and rise to great heights. But after Master Wu’s death, those pigments were long lost, only visible in works preserved in the palace.”

Wei Xun thought for a while and said: “Didn’t Guan Shan and Guan Yun say they preserved Wu Daozi’s meditation room from when he lived at Toad Light Temple? Perhaps Wu Guancheng found those lost pigments in the painting sage’s former residence?”

Bao Zhu pondered for a moment and praised: “Your deduction is excellent! You mentioned that Wu Guancheng cut open corpses to study their interiors to paint so realistically—this person seemed possessed by painting, truly frightening.”

She remembered tonight was still Ghost Festival, the day wandering souls returned to walk among humans. Perhaps Wu Guancheng’s disheveled ghost was hovering nearby, and she couldn’t help rubbing her arms.

Wei Xun thought that possessed people were indeed this frightening.

Chen Shigu used to often drag corpses back from mass graves, cutting them open for disciples to identify human meridians and vital points, or having them practice suturing and bone-setting on the bodies. This heretical martial training method was the biggest reason Canyang Academy’s martial arts stood unique in the martial world, particularly in lethality.

Tomb raiding, martial training—his childhood was spent in inescapable hunger and corpse stench, a kind of spiritual foulness that couldn’t be scrubbed away even if you rubbed your skin raw. Being able to stand clean before her now was an unimaginable ascension.

“Guancheng? Gui’er?!”

An aged voice echoed under the corridor, carrying some fearful trembling.

Bao Zhu turned back to look—it was the old painter they’d met during the day. His eyes were quite dim, and he held up an oil lamp, peering suspiciously for a long time before realizing he’d mistaken them for someone else. He visibly relaxed.

Wei Xun asked alertly: “What? Do we two resemble those two people?”

The old painter shook his head. Knowing they were living people, he came closer. “Not alike at all, but both are young men and women viewing murals, so I mistook you. Today is Ghost Festival night—I thought…”

Bao Zhu found it strange: “Do you think both of them are dead?”

The old painter said: “When retrieving the floating corpse, many people were present. That hair length belonged to no one else… sigh, news of Wu Guancheng’s death has already spread throughout Toad Light Temple. As for Gui’er, I hope she’s alive, but didn’t her family come making trouble? They say she’s been missing for half a month.”

Wei Xun said: “Master Tan Lin has entrusted us to investigate the truth. Since you knew the Wu couple, why don’t you tell us about them.”

The old painter sighed deeply. On this special night when demons and spirits prowled, talking more with living people seemed to break the bone-chilling silence.

“I’ve worked at Toad Light Temple for many years—I watched Guancheng grow up…”