In the twentieth year of Emperor Qizhen’s reign, in Northern Liang, by the Jinjiang River.

The weather in the first month could change at a moment’s notice. Just moments ago the sky had been clear and boundless, but in an instant came torrential rain with flashing lightning and rolling thunder. The small bluestone path seemed to be coated with a layer of silver water, making it slippery.

Ji Yunshu held an umbrella while carrying an exquisitely carved sandalwood box in her arms, walking all the way from the Ji family residence to the gates of the Zhou family manor.

During the first month of the new year, every household was full of joy and celebration, yet the entrance to the Zhou manor was hung with white silk and several white lanterns.

It turned out that yesterday, Miss Zhou had suffered a sudden accident and died!

Ji Yunshu put away her umbrella, brushed the rainwater from her shoulders, and carefully examined the sandalwood box in her arms.

This was her precious tool for making a living—it absolutely could not get wet!

If not for the county magistrate’s request, she truly would not have wanted to come.

Taking on work during the first month was indeed rather inauspicious.

“Sir, you’ve arrived at last.”

A young servant from the manor ran over at a quick trot, bowing at the waist as he called out anxiously.

Calling her “sir” was not unusual—Ji Yunshu was dressed entirely in men’s clothing, plain and elegant.

Ji Yunshu nodded slightly and followed the servant to the mourning hall in the rear courtyard. The manor’s maids and servants filled the ground on their knees, heads lowered, all wiping away tears.

Inside the hall, Master Zhou wore a purple-black satin long robe, his hair coiled in a high topknot. His expression was grave, his lips pressed into a thin line, his eyes filled with bloodshot veins, his entire bearing one of utter exhaustion.

Beside him, Madam Zhou was crying so hard she could barely catch her breath, grief-stricken to the point of wanting to die. Yesterday when she learned of her daughter’s sudden death, she had fainted on the spot. Even now she had not recovered—if not for several young maids supporting her, she would have collapsed to the ground again by now.

Ji Yunshu had naturally grown accustomed to such scenes from her usual work.

When Master Zhou saw Ji Yunshu arrive, he glanced at his wife before pulling Ji Yunshu aside.

“Master Ji, I apologize for the trouble. My daughter loved wearing pink in life and was quite fond of grooming and dressing herself. In her spare time she would go to the courtyard to admire the plum blossoms. Because her health was poor, she rarely went out. But yesterday… she fell from the pavilion and struck the decorative rocks. Her face…”

“Master Zhou, please be at ease. I understand.”

Ji Yunshu acknowledged this and set down the sandalwood box she had brought, opening it. Inside were painting tools of exquisite craftsmanship. The box was divided into three layers: the first layer held seven or eight small silver-inlaid brushes embroidered with phoenix clouds, the second layer was a concave water trough, and the third layer contained forty-eight compartments of pigments in pure, uniform colors.

Though the box was ingenious, it contained everything needed.

Several young maids curiously peered inside—they had never seen such an impressive setup for painting.

A young servant brought out a roll of silk brocade and spread it on the table, then led Ji Yunshu to the side of the coffin.

In the coffin, Miss Zhou’s face was grotesquely mangled, skin split and flesh torn, blood vessels connected to bone, both cheeks slightly protruding to reveal white bone. Her eyeballs had burst from their sockets and now hung above and below the eye cavities. Though her lips and teeth remained intact, her nose bridge had completely shattered.

Who wouldn’t feel nauseated seeing such a sight?

But for someone who had lost their footing and fallen from a building, this was exactly how they should look.

Looking again at her hairstyle and clothing—fine pink brocade of the highest quality, neat and orderly, her hair black as ink, harmonizing with the gold and silver burial accessories placed beside her.

The Zhou family was truly a wealthy household—no wonder the county magistrate had begged and pleaded three times over for her to make this trip.

After examining everything carefully, Ji Yunshu returned to the table and began mixing several pigments. She selected a number three brush and sketched outlines on the silk brocade, applying ink. In less than a moment, a form began to take shape. Then she applied colors one by one, slowly refining the work—dyeing, adjusting…

The people around her watched in stunned amazement, their eyes wide with wonder.

It was said that Jinjiang had produced a famous painter, a master affiliated with the yamen who specialized in painting the dead. Whether it was mangled corpses with flesh and blood mixed together, charred and putrid remains, or even a pile of bare white bones—she could paint what the corpse had looked like in life.

With a pair of skillful hands and a sandalwood box, she could practically bring the dead back to life.

After half a quarter-hour, Ji Yunshu set down her brush and flicked the dust from her sleeves.