Wasn’t that just stating nonsense?
The other two disciples stared at him speechlessly.
If there wasn’t any supernatural trouble, what were they even doing here?
But Feng Li’s expression didn’t change. He nodded. “You’re absolutely right.”
After praising Jiang Luo, he continued walking into the house.
Wang Santan and the others exchanged incredulous looks.
Teacher Feng almost never praised anyone. But now, he’d just praised Jiang Luo?
They communicated silently with their eyes—Is this the kind of answer he likes?
The young man led them to the living room, where a mother and daughter were sitting on the couch.
Both Huang Yulan and her daughter had cried until their eyes were red. When they saw the group enter, she quickly wiped her tears with a handkerchief and forced a smile as she stood up. “Mr. Feng, please sit.”
Feng Li sat on the couch, and Jiang Luo, along with the other two, stood behind him.
“Go ahead,” Feng Li said calmly. “Why did you call me?”
As the Feng family’s Heavenly Master, Feng Li rarely took on minor cases like this. It was only because he happened to be in Yunnan and had an old connection through the old Heavenly Master that he agreed to come.
At his words, Huang Yulan’s tears started falling again. Her son, Ke Hetang, spoke up instead. “It’s about my father.”
“Half a month ago, my father started acting strangely. He became irritable and prone to anger—any little thing would set him off. That might’ve been tolerable, but then he started eating insects—something he’s never done before,” Ke Hetang said with difficulty. “Bugs from the field—ants, silkworm pupae, cockroaches… Even after we processed and cooked them, it was still disturbing. But then we discovered that he was secretly swallowing them raw when we weren’t looking.”
Jiang Luo heard the sound of two people beside him swallowing hard.
Swallowing bugs alive — that was indeed intense.
The world was vast and full of oddities. Some had peculiar desires, others had strange eating habits.
But if that was all, it still wasn’t enough to warrant calling for a Heavenly Master.
Sure enough, Ke Hetang continued, “That’s not all. He’s also been constantly scratching the skin on his body — front, back — even after breaking the skin and bleeding, he won’t stop. We asked if it hurt, and he said he couldn’t feel anything.”
Huang Yulan clutched her handkerchief. “Mr. Feng, you haven’t seen the wounds he’s scratched on himself — they’re bad enough to need stitches. Can he really not feel any pain? I feel… I feel like he’s possessed or something.”
Feng Li listened quietly. After they finished speaking, he stood up and said, “I understand.”
“You three, come with me.” Feng Li glanced at Jiang Luo and the others.
The mansion was large. Feng Li led them through the first floor, then up to the second.
Huang Yulan and her children followed behind, full of anxious hope. Just as they approached the study upstairs — before they even stepped inside — Jiang Luo suddenly felt a cold, sinister chill drift toward him.
Feng Li must have sensed it too. Without hesitation, he stepped directly into the study.
The study was large, its walls lined with bookshelves. A redwood custom desk sat in front of the shelves, and a tiger-patterned rug was laid across the floor.
At first glance, it felt stately and dignified, but a closer look revealed a flashy extravagance. From what Jiang Luo had seen of the home, it seemed the family had recently come into sudden wealth — typical nouveau riche.
The study was filled with plants symbolizing good fortune. On the left wall hung a painting, and on the desk sat a decorative coin.
After taking in the room, Jiang Luo’s gaze returned to the painting.
It was a full-length back view of a man, dressed in an old-fashioned jacket. From the waist down, he was submerged in darkness. At his feet, the shadow was unnaturally stiff and segmented — if one looked closely, it seemed to be subtly divided into three parts.
The painting gave Jiang Luo an uneasy feeling.
Feng Li asked, “What do you all see?”
Another test. Learning from before, Wang Santan cautiously said, “There’s definitely a problem here.”
Another disciple chimed in, “And it’s not a small one.”
Feng Li replied, disappointed, “Empty words, useless.”
He turned to Jiang Luo.
Jiang Luo was still staring at the painting. “This painting… seems alive?”
A faint smile flickered across Feng Li’s face. He turned to the family. “When was this painting purchased?”
Ke Hetang cautiously replied, “Father bought it at an auction half a month ago. Mr. Feng, is there something wrong with the painting?”
Feng Li nodded slightly, stepped forward to touch the painting, and after a moment’s silence, turned to his disciples. “Come feel the material of the painting.”
Each of them stepped forward and touched it. The surface was slick and elastic, strangely addictive to the touch. When they finished, Feng Li asked, “Can you tell what it’s made of?”
Jiang Luo and the others all shook their heads.
He had studied design for years, but had never encountered such a material.
Feng Li said, “It’s made of human skin.”
Everyone froze.
Huang Yulan’s hand trembled. “Human skin?”
Mother and son turned pale, and her family shook uncontrollably with fear. They couldn’t believe they had been openly displaying a painting made of human skin in their home.
Feng Li then looked at the decorative coin on the desk. “When was this coin placed here?”
“T-Two months ago,” Ke Hetang stammered, face ashen. “I brought it back. My father loves antiques and artwork, so we often bring things like this home.”
Feng Li walked to the desk and looked down at the coin, his tone calm. “If the coin had been passed down in the family, it would have helped protect the home. But if the source is unclear, it could be carrying unclean energy.”
He picked up the coin, examined it, then said, “This was taken from a dead man’s mouth.”
Ke Hetang was speechless, sweat pouring down his face. After a while, he stammered, “Mr. Feng, I… I didn’t know it came from a corpse.”
Feng Li’s voice remained cool. “The coin is steeped in yin energy. It’s been feeding the human-skin painting, cultivating malevolent energy. If we’d come half a month later, the owner of this study would already be dead.”
Huang Yulan anxiously asked, “Mr. Feng, is it too late to do something?”
“There’s still time,” Feng Li replied. “But I need to meet your husband.”
Given the seriousness, half an hour later, Huang Yulan’s husband, Ke Wangwei, rushed back to the mansion.
He entered with a scowl, a dark shadow circling his brow, temples bulging, and a face full of menace — the kind you might see on a butcher. From just one glance, Jiang Luo saw no signs of wealth or nobility. Instead, he felt this man was aggressive and dangerous — not someone to mess with.
Ke Wangwei looked impatient at first, but froze when he saw Feng Li. Clearly, he recognized him. His expression immediately shifted to one of flattery and respect.
“Mr. Feng? What brings you to my home?”
In today’s world, the higher one’s status, the more superstitious they often were. Ke Wangwei also believed in such things. Anyone with connections knew of Feng Li’s reputation — few could ever secure his help.
Ke Wangwei hadn’t expected to see Feng Li in his home. Surprised and delighted, even the discomfort he’d been feeling in recent days suddenly lessened.
“Mr. Feng, what brings you to my home today?” asked Ke Wangwei.
Feng Li looked at him for a moment, then pointed to the painting in the study. “Mr. Ke, do you recognize this painting?”
Ke Wangwei felt uneasy but replied, “I bought that painting half a month ago. Of course I recognize it.”
“No,” Feng Li said, “I mean—do you recognize the person in the painting?”
Ke Wangwei looked baffled and turned his gaze toward the painting.
In truth, he had bought the painting because the figure in it had felt oddly familiar at first glance. But he couldn’t identify who the man in the painting was, even now. As he stared at it, his eyes began to ache, and just as he was about to look away, a strange and chilling sensation surged through his chest.
His face went pale. “Impossible!”
Feng Li remained calm. “You recognized him. Who is the person in the painting?”
Beads of sweat rolled down Ke Wangwei’s forehead. He stammered, “I—I don’t know…”
Feng Li turned to leave with his disciples.
Huang Yulan cried out in panic, “Mr. Feng, don’t go!”
She angrily tugged on Ke Wangwei’s sleeve. “You know something—why aren’t you saying it? Don’t you realize? If Mr. Feng doesn’t step in, you’ll be dead in half a month!”
Ke Wangwei glanced nervously at the painting, cold sweat dripping from him. He gritted his teeth and said loudly, “I’ll talk, I’ll talk! Mr. Feng, please save me!”
