“I’ve worked at Toad Light Temple for many years—I watched Guancheng grow up. He was an orphan adopted by Master Tan Lin, showing painting talent from a very young age. He was both the abbot’s disciple and his painting assistant. I lived in the same Guangli Ward as the Wu family in Luoyang. Though not close, I knew them. They were a small trading family living very frugally—the whole family ate coarse grain rice, and Wu Gui’er was already grown but had never tasted what sugar was like at home.

Wu Gui’er couldn’t paint, but she loved looking at paintings. Toad Light Temple was famous for its murals, so she often came to admire them under the pretext of worshipping Buddha or purchasing osmanthus flowers, and that’s how she met Guancheng. Both were poor, and though he had thoughts of leaving monastic life, he didn’t have a single coin—very straitened circumstances.”

Bao Zhu asked: “How could that be? Wu Guancheng’s painting talent was so outstanding, he should have been able to earn a lot of money.”

The old painter snorted in displeasure: “He was an apprentice. Of the three hundred sixty trades in the world, none pay apprentices wages—having two meals a day was already good. My own disciples are the same. Master Tan Lin was generous with money, never stingy with paint costs—he was the kind of magnanimous person you couldn’t find even with a lantern.

The abbot wanted this final disciple to inherit his Buddhist dharma, so he wouldn’t let him graduate, keeping the outline drawing techniques in his own hands while Guancheng could only do color washes and shading.

But this child was a natural genius who skipped the outlining step entirely, composing directly with colors and creating his own unique painting technique. Whether he graduated became irrelevant. When he and Gui’er fell in love and was determined to leave monastic life, Master Tan Lin could only let go, directing him to seek his own special pigments and try illusion techniques—a shortcut to fame.

Following his master’s words, Guancheng created the secret formula of using oil instead of water to mix colors, and conceived the unique skills of ‘water painting and spray painting.’ He performed everywhere, earned some money, then grew out his hair, left monastic life, and took the Wu family surname.”

Bao Zhu said: “It sounds smooth sailing—how did he become possessed and start painting with corpses?”

The old painter shook his head: “Who knows? Maybe it was a sudden inspiration while doing meditation contemplation with the abbot. According to our trade saying, ‘you cannot paint the eyes when drawing a dragon.’ But Guancheng loved painting eyes most. Painting ghosts and spirits too realistically brings no good—it attracts real evil spirits from the underworld.

Guancheng was desperately saving money, planning to take Gui’er to Chang’an for a good life. With his skills, earning a fortune daily would be no problem—the future was bright. Who would have thought he’d suddenly drown, dying in such a bizarre way? Isn’t this the work of ghostly creatures?”

Bao Zhu and Wei Xun exchanged glances, each with their own thoughts.

After telling everything he knew, the old painter urged them to hurry back to their quarters and not wander around on such a day. After Bao Zhu inquired about the location of Wu Daozi’s former residence, he hurriedly departed.

The two followed the trail toward the painting sage’s former dwelling.

After hearing the “ghostly creatures at work” theory, Bao Zhu felt even more uncomfortable all over. Every gust of wind made her jumpy, like a bird startled by the twang of a bow.

Seeing her like this, Wei Xun held back again and again but still couldn’t resist finally asking his inner question: “Have you really seen ghosts? Why do you care about things that only exist in stories? You’re skilled in martial arts and worldly-wise, capable of handling an entire sect like the Raksha Birds alone—what is there to fear?”

Bao Zhu was silent for a moment, then said softly: “When I was small, there was a eunuch named Ruian beside me who had served me for many years and was very familiar to me. He often told me interesting stories. Once, he mysteriously told me that a ‘Blood-Smeared Ghost’ had appeared in the palace.”

“A ‘Blood-Smeared Ghost’? Is that the blood-smeared phase from the Nine Phase Contemplation?”

Bao Zhu shook her head: “He didn’t describe it so clearly, only said it was a ghost covered in blood, full of resentment, constantly wandering the palace.”

Wei Xun comforted her: “The Son of Heaven has abandoned the capital and fled several times—having a few people who died unnatural deaths in the palace is perfectly normal.”

Bao Zhu’s face turned slightly pale: “The frightening part wasn’t just this legend. After a few days, when I recalled this story and wanted to ask Ruian for more details, I discovered he was gone. All the palace people around said there had never been anyone named Ruian, including several eunuchs who had good relationships with him. Along with his name, experiences, and memories, Ruian as a person had been completely devoured by the Blood-Smeared Ghost. I was truly terrified and had my wet nurse sleep with me for many days.

I’m not afraid of enemies I can see—as long as they’re breathing creatures, I can always find ways to deal with them. But this kind of invisible, formless thing… When I got older, I understood that Ruian disappeared because he told me things he shouldn’t have said. He was the first person to disappear from around me, and it happened two more times after that. I don’t know what they said wrong or did wrong—living people would suddenly vanish completely from the human world one day, and no one dared mention them, only treating them as if they’d never existed.”

Her voice became somewhat hoarse: “The last time, the one who disappeared from the human world was myself. To make me disappear completely, everyone around me was buried together. That Blood-Smeared Ghost—I still don’t know what kind of evil spirit it was.”

The most terrifying stories in the deep palace were those that couldn’t be spoken; the most frightening evil spirits were the fear in others’ eyes.

Without realizing it, Bao Zhu had taken Wei Xun’s hand. Without the hot spring’s help, his skin was cold as a dead person’s, but his return grip was very strong, almost painful. Yet strangely, she could draw trust and security from various discomforts.

Bao Zhu said with forced cheerfulness: “Speaking of which, I’m now considered an evil creature that can’t show its face in public. Look how I scared Dou Jing into fleeing in panic today—I never knew teasing people could be so interesting.”

Wei Xun had been silently listening to her confession without speaking. After a long while, he said quietly: “You’ve actually seen a ghost with your own eyes, one that follows you constantly.”

Bao Zhu thought he was going to play another trick and sighed: “Yes, the hanged ghost in the pagoda tree.”

“Not that one.”

Wei Xun stopped walking and pulled out a blue stone from the small pouch holding flint at his waist, quickly sketching a few strokes in the blank space between murals on the wall.

Before Bao Zhu could stop him, he had drawn a spirited lynx among a group of dignified and mighty guardian deities, its face full of mockery as it puffed out its chest looking toward viewers outside the painting.

Wei Xun blinked and said with a grin: “Look, it’s a mischievous ghost.”

Bao Zhu was both angry and amused, scolding: “This is a temple mural! Not a graffiti wall in an inn or tavern. You’re scribbling randomly—aren’t you afraid of divine retribution?”

Wei Xun said nonchalantly: “What’s the problem? I’m the princess’s guardian deity—don’t I deserve a place on the wall?”

His mischief greatly reduced her fears. Bao Zhu remembered that the first thing she’d done upon arriving at Toad Light Temple yesterday was send him to deface the murals in the Hall of Inevitable Impermanence. She hadn’t thought about retribution then either—clearly she’d already been corrupted by this mischievous ghost.

As they talked, they reached Wu Daozi’s former residence that the painter had mentioned. Wei Xun skillfully picked the lock, went in for a look, and beckoned Bao Zhu to follow.

As a room where a famous person had lived nearly a hundred years ago, it didn’t seem particularly old. The dust on the furnishings was thin—apparently cleaned regularly. Some papers and pigments didn’t look like old items from that era, only some unfinished murals on the walls showing Wu Daozi’s slightly crude brushwork from before he became famous.

The two split up—Bao Zhu examined papers and materials while Wei Xun handled bottles and jars. After Wu Daozi became famous, his paintings were worth thousands of gold. If there were authentic works, they couldn’t possibly be left here casually. The paintings on papers here all looked like later imitations and drafts, with many being pigment color tests.

Wei Xun said: “If I didn’t know in advance this was a painter’s residence, I’d think it was an alchemist’s room.”

Bao Zhu asked: “How so?”

Wei Xun pointed to containers on the desk, listing them one by one: “Peacock bile, mica, verdigris, cinnabar, realgar, orpiment, lead white—these are all materials for pill refining. The difference is that for painting you grind them into pigments, while for alchemy you throw them in furnaces to burn.”

Bao Zhu marveled: “Those bamboo slips on immortal cultivation and pill refining you read weren’t wasted.”

Wei Xun asked: “Any discoveries on your side?”

Bao Zhu shook her head: “No leads. Actually, I don’t much like Wu Daozi—this person was called a painting sage, but his character was quite base.”

This was the first time Wei Xun heard her judge someone else’s character, and he was curious: “How was he base?”

“In his later years, having achieved success and fame, he was the unshakeable leader of the painting world. Who knew a teenage genius named Huangfu Zhen would emerge from nowhere, also following the route of being born in Luoyang then going to Chang’an to make his fortune. Wu Daozi felt this youth’s talent threatened his own reputation, so jealousy bred hatred, and he simply hired assassins to murder him.”

Wei Xun said: “This is the first I’ve heard of it.”

Bao Zhu said: “Wu Daozi was the palace’s court painter, and Emperor Xuanzong doted on him greatly, having the Metropolitan Governor suppress the matter. Presumably commoners don’t know. Wu Daozi was already famous throughout the world, yet was troubled by the demon of jealousy. If Huangfu Zhen had lived, he should have become the second generation painting sage—truly heaven envies talent.”

She saw a porcelain bottle containing some bright red powder that looked like fine rouge. She extended her fingertip to touch it and casually applied it to her lips, but Wei Xun quickly pounced over and grabbed her hand.

“Don’t touch your mouth! This is vermillion—made from mercury and sulfur. It’s poisonous.”

Bao Zhu was startled and quickly tore off some waste paper to wipe her hands, wondering what was wrong with her—her alertness was so low. Was she too exhausted? After wiping her hands, she noticed this torn hemp paper had once wrapped something, with fine rope still remaining from the binding.

Wei Xun extracted the rope from her hand and found it was tanned grass rope, the same type remaining on the floating corpse’s wrist. He took the hemp paper to examine it and saw tiny translucent fragments remaining inside. He sniffed it at his nose, pondered for a moment, then handed it to Bao Zhu.

Bao Zhu imitated him and sniffed, detecting a faint sweet osmanthus fragrance within the hemp paper.

“Osmanthus sugar frost?!”

Wei Xun nodded: “This hemp paper wrapped candy, and the tanned grass rope was for binding the paper package. This kind of packaging is very common when buying pastries and sweets at markets.”

Wu Daozi’s former residence contained hemp paper that had wrapped candy, and the contents were precisely osmanthus sugar frost produced by the Wu family candy shop. Either Wu Guancheng or Wu Gui’er had definitely been here.

Though this clue couldn’t immediately solve the case, they finally had some leads.

Leaving Wu Daozi’s former residence, Bao Zhu covered her mouth and yawned. She’d been woken by the temple’s morning bell at the yin hour before dawn today, then experienced various incidents—she was long overdue for sleep.

Wei Xun advised: “Go back and rest first. The floating corpse is in the lime pit anyway—it won’t run away tomorrow.”

Bao Zhu forced her eyelids open: “I’ll go back, take a bath to wake up, then come out. If we solve the case quickly, we can pry the supplies from Tan Lin’s hands sooner and leave this strange place.”

Wei Xun escorted her to the guest hall entrance and removed the Fish Intestine sword from his belt to give her.

“Rhinoceros horn wards off evil—you said so yourself.”

Bao Zhu understood and accepted it, fastening it at her waist. From another corridor came Shisan Lang, also yawning. Seeing Bao Zhu, he hurried over.

“I don’t know what’s wrong today—I’m so sleepy.”

Bao Zhu asked: “How many bowls of soup noodles did you eat tonight?”

Shisan Lang embarrassedly touched his head: “Four bowls.”

Bao Zhu laughed: “Eating so much noodles at once—if you’re not sleepy, who would be?”

Shisan Lang said: “I’ll go back and wash my face to wake up.”

Bao Zhu said: “Perfect timing—come keep me company and chant sutras to ward off evil.”

The two walked toward the guest hall’s inner courtyard, chatting and laughing. Bao Zhu held a lamp stand, the toad light rippling. Her figure was draped in a transparent silk made of moonlight, as if she were a celestial being in heavenly robes returning to the moon.

Watching this halo of light gradually recede, Wei Xun was left behind in darkness. Suddenly an unease of being alone crept into his heart, and he involuntarily called out: “Bao Zhu?”

Hearing her real name called outside for the first time, she paused and turned back: “What is it?”

Wei Xun opened his mouth but couldn’t think of what to say, stammering: “Nothing… nothing else. I just wanted to see if you’d respond.”

“Mm, I will.”

Bao Zhu smiled gently and turned to leave.