Ke Wangwei wiped his sweat. “The man in the painting is my childhood best friend, Li Er.”
“Back before I struck it rich, we spent our days messing around together,” Ke said. “He was like a real brother to me—we shared everything, hardships and all. When we were around seventeen or eighteen, we met someone in the tomb-raiding trade. That’s how we got started…”
They would dig up graves, find valuables, and sell them for cash.
“But one time, something went wrong. We went into a tomb, and he never made it back out,” Ke Wangwei said, wiping away tears. “Only I returned. After that, I never went tomb-raiding again. I used what money we had to start a business… and in a flash, nearly twenty years have passed.”
Time had dulled the memory. He had even forgotten the back view in the painting.
Feng Li frowned. “Is that all?”
Ke Wangwei nodded.
Feng Li asked, “Did you do anything to wrong him?”
Ke Wangwei hesitated, then gritted his teeth and said, “The money we made from that last raid—I kept it all. I didn’t give a cent to his family.”
Ke Hetang, his son, was stunned. “Dad, how could you—”
“Shut up!” Ke Wangwei snapped. “Without that money, you wouldn’t be living like this now!”
Then he turned, forced a smile, and asked, “Mr. Feng, you said I’ll die in half a month—what did you mean by that?”
Feng Li replied coldly, “That painting is made of human skin and is infused with the aura of a vengeful spirit. He’s come to take revenge on you. The painting has already begun to affect you, turning you into something not quite human. In the end, you’ll die the same way he did.”
At that, Jiang Luo glanced sideways at the scratches on Ke Wangwei’s arm.
According to his wife and son, Ke Wangwei had been clawing at his own skin viciously. Would he eventually peel off his own skin like the one used for the painting?
Jiang Luo was sure Ke Wangwei was lying about something.
Fear flickered across Ke Wangwei’s face. “Mr. Feng, what can I do?”
“Resentments have a source. Debts have a debtor. He’s become a vengeful spirit, and the only solution is to perform a ritual to release his soul,” Feng Li said. “But before that, you must apologize and repay what you owe. Since you used the money from that raid to build your business, you must give half your wealth to his family. Then you must find a good feng shui site to rebury his remains.”
Half?!
Pain flickered across Ke Wangwei’s face. “Mr. Feng, this…”
Feng Li cut him off. “Your life or your money—pick one.”
Ke Wangwei took a deep breath. “Fine. I’ll give up half my estate.”
And he did just that—immediately calling his lawyer and assistant, afraid Feng Li would walk away if he delayed.
Before long, he had signed the legal documents. Face twitching with pain, he turned to Feng Li and asked, “Mr. Feng, I’ve settled the estate—will that suffice?”
Feng Li gave a slight nod. “I will perform the ritual. When it’s time to apologize, you’ll need to kowtow three times to ask for forgiveness.”
Ke Wangwei nodded eagerly. “Of course, of course. Thank you, Mr. Feng.”
Feng Li then had his disciples prepare the ritual supplies, leaving only Jiang Luo, who had brought nothing, standing quietly behind him.
Feng Li looked at the black-haired youth.
The youth seemed to have rushed out in a hurry—his hair still bore creases from sleep. His thoughtful expression muted the striking beauty of his features, lending him a classical elegance that oddly matched Feng Li’s traditional robes.
Feng Li saw the question in his eyes. “You want to ask something?”
Jiang Luo met his gaze. “Teacher Feng, do you believe his story?”
Feng Li replied with cold detachment, “Whether he’s telling the truth or not doesn’t matter. If he’s lying, then he must be prepared to face the consequences.”
This main character was even more ruthless and formidable than Jiang Luo had imagined. Jiang Luo nodded. “Understood.”
Half an hour later, the ritual supplies were ready.
Ke Wangwei, visibly tense, kept wiping the sweat from his forehead. “Mr. Feng, I just need to kowtow three times, and then I’ll be safe?”
Feng Li replied, “Yes.”
He lit three sticks of incense and inserted them into the censer. The smoke wafted upward, but once it reached a certain height, it began to sink instead, gradually accumulating in a white porcelain bowl.
Feng Li used a single chopstick to gently stir the white mist inside the bowl. The mist gradually condensed into clear water, which then turned a deep blood red.
The blood-red liquid was thick and viscous. Only when the chopstick could pull it into long, sticky strands did Feng Li put it down and place a folded triangle-shaped talisman into the bowl.
As soon as the talisman touched the liquid, it ignited and burned all the red water away.
Only then did Feng Li speak: “Kowtow and apologize.”
Ke Wangwei let out a sigh of relief and kowtowed decisively. “Li Er, I’m sorry, brother. I’ll give half of everything I own to your parents. I’ll treat them like my own and take care of them. I’ll find you a good resting place with proper feng shui. I beg you, please forgive me.”
As he spoke and bowed, the three incense sticks suddenly snapped in the middle. Jiang Luo instinctively looked toward the painting made of human skin, only to see the shadow beneath the man in the painting writhing, bulging unnaturally as if something was about to burst through the surface.
Ke Wangwei remained unaware and continued, “What happened back then was my fault. I really regret it. For the sake of all the years we grew up together, just give me a way to live.”
Before he could finish, three tendrils of black mist suddenly shot out from the shadow and tightly wrapped themselves around Ke Wangwei’s body.
But it seemed no one could see this—not even Ke Wangwei himself. Seeing that nothing had happened after his apology, he relaxed slightly. Though his spirit seemed intact, his body felt strangely weak and drained. Cautiously, he looked to Feng Li. “Mr. Feng, so… is it over?”
Feng Li stared at the three malevolent ghosts clinging to Ke Wangwei and said coldly, “I can’t save your life.”
With that, he turned to his disciples. “Let’s go.”
Though confused, the disciples followed him without hesitation. Huang Yulan’s lips trembled as she began to sob miserably, too afraid to stop Feng Li. “Mr. Feng, why can’t he be saved?”
Ke Hetang, pale as a sheet, stammered, “Mr. Feng…”
Feng Li paused and glanced back at Ke Wangwei, who still didn’t understand what had happened. “Everything he said was a lie. Who do you expect to save him?”
He had no desire to stay any longer, and left decisively.
Ke Wangwei’s body trembled violently. He suddenly shouted, “Mr. Feng! If I die, your reputation will suffer too! You promised to save me, but you still can’t! If I really die, your Feng family won’t have peace either!”
Then, his tone abruptly shifted to pleading. “Mr. Feng, I don’t want to die. Please save me. I’m willing to give you the other half of my fortune, or even donate it all!”
Feng Li’s eyes turned icy cold.
He let out a mirthless laugh, turned back, and said, “Fine. I’ll save you. But you must tell everything you’ve done. All of it.”
Ke Wangwei’s lips moved silently for a moment before he collapsed in despair.
Back when he and his close friend Li Er raided tombs, they were short on manpower. So Ke Wangwei went back to the village and tricked three peasant men—who had never entered a tomb—into joining them.
Those men thought Ke Wangwei was taking them to the city for well-paying jobs. Trusting him completely, they followed. Ke Wangwei told them that city folk liked things from underground and lured them into a tomb.
By sheer luck, they found valuables inside—more than Ke Wangwei and Li Er had ever gotten in years of looting. Greed took hold. In the end, Ke Wangwei coldly abandoned the three men inside, sealed the tomb entrance, and ensured he wouldn’t have to share the loot.
Li Er was deeply disturbed and kept muttering that vengeful spirits would come for them. His unease began to wear on Ke Wangwei, who eventually went to consult a Daoist to learn how to protect himself.
By chance, the Daoist he visited was rather unorthodox. He told Ke Wangwei that the three villagers would survive for a few more days by eating insects inside the tomb, but those bugs—corrupted by death energy—would turn them into vengeful ghosts.
To prevent revenge, Ke Wangwei needed to seal those ghosts.
“I asked how to do it. He told me…” Ke Wangwei swallowed hard, “He said those ghosts had two people they hated most. If I used the skin of one to seal the tomb, any ghost trying to escape would be sucked into it and trapped forever.”
And those two people were Ke Wangwei and Li Er.
Since Ke Wangwei was still alive, the one skinned for the ritual had clearly been Li Er.
Wang San, one of the disciples, couldn’t help but curse under his breath. “That’s vicious.”
Another frowned. “Are we really going to save him?”
Jiang Luo didn’t think Feng Li would.
Not because of morality, but because of Ke Wangwei’s earlier threat.
Feng Li’s face never changed as he listened. He finally said, “There is one more way.”
Ke Wangwei’s face lit up with hope.
Feng Li said, “Wrap yourself in the human-skin painting for forty-nine days. Your own yang energy will suppress the yin within it, and what’s inside will be unable to escape.”
Upon hearing this, Ke Wangwei struggled to his feet, snatched the painting, and wrapped it tightly around himself. Sure enough, as soon as he did, he felt an incredible lightness, as if a massive burden had been lifted.
Ke Wangwei was overjoyed. “Thank you, Mr. Feng! Thank you! I won’t die now—I won’t die!”
Feng Li glanced at him indifferently a few times, then left with his disciples. Just before exiting the study, Jiang Luo turned back for one last look. On the painting, the black ghostly shadows—wild and clawing—were entangled around Ke Wangwei. Those shadows bared their fangs in sinister laughter, watching Ke Wangwei with eerie delight.
Jiang Luo wasn’t sure if it was just his imagination, but he thought he saw the man in the painting—the one with his back turned—slightly turn his head, revealing a grin stretched all the way to his ears.
The man’s facial features gradually transformed into Ke Wangwei’s.
Feng Li murmured, “Don’t look.”
Jiang Luo averted his gaze.
Feng Li shot him a glance. “Good is repaid with good, evil with evil. Vengeful ghosts do not let go. Even if two people were as close as brothers, once dead, a malevolent ghost shows no mercy.”
Only then did Jiang Luo recall: the whole reason this main character gong brought him here was to show him that “humans and ghosts walk different paths.”
He wanted to agree with Feng Li’s words, but stubbornly said on the surface, “This is different.”
Feng Li asked, “How is it different?”
Jiang Luo replied, “Between Chi You and me, it’s love. Theirs was friendship. I didn’t kill Chi You. He killed his own brother.”
He said this with conviction, not a trace of guilt.
Feng Li countered, “What’s the difference?”
“Vengeful ghosts are never kind,” Feng Li said as he got into the carriage. “Once they latch onto an obsession—whether for revenge or otherwise—they’ll stop at nothing to fulfill it. Familial love is an obsession. Friendship is an obsession. Romantic love is also an obsession. Once a vengeful ghost fixates on one, they lose every trace of their former humanity.”
“Humans and ghosts walk separate paths,” Feng Li said in conclusion. “You are of my clan. You must obey me. If I ever catch you entangled with that vengeful ghost again, I will make sure his soul is utterly annihilated.”
—
Author’s Note:
Jiang Luo (delighted): Really?! Then I’ll drag Chi You out and have him do a little spin in front of you.
