Volume Nine: The Sin of Enchantment Chapter Five: The Vengeful Spirit Within the Painting

Back at the police station, Yaoguang took the scraps of paper from the painting for analysis.

"Phoenix, the fake Taoist we brought back has been handed over to the criminal investigation division for interrogation," Xuan Chen said. "Did you find the painting scroll?"

"The criminal division can interrogate that fake Taoist as long as they want," Yaoguang replied with a nod. "He’s swindled plenty of money; let’s see how much he coughs up. As for the painting scroll," she shook the scroll in her hand, "I got it back. This scroll shows intense magnetic fluctuations, and a single glance is enough to entrance someone. Whatever’s inside is no ordinary thing. Let’s go to the conference room."

With that, Yaoguang entered the conference room, locked the door, then glanced at Yitian and the gathered immortals already arranging their formation. "What’s inside this is unusual. I’ve already placed a seal over the painting, but everyone, be careful."

She carefully unrolled the painting, hanging it on the wall at the front of the room.

The picture depicted a beauty at her dressing table, combing her hair before a mirror. Behind her was an antique folding window adorned with painted flowers. There was no signature, but the lines were exquisitely rendered, the hand of a true master. The colors were handled with superb taste; the painting was a delight to the eye.

"Isn’t this the ‘Lady Yang’s Night Makeup’ painting?" Huo Mingkun asked.

"I’ve told you it’s not," Jiang Yun argued. "Go look it up online. The woman here looks nothing like the legendary beauty Yang Guifei! Yang Guifei was famously plump—look at this woman, she’s as slender as a lightning bolt. And the clothes—Yang Guifei was from the Tang Dynasty, but these are clearly Song Dynasty robes. Even the hair ornaments are Song style. Why are you so stuck on Yang Guifei? Besides, that ‘Lady Yang’s Night Makeup’ painting is just a legend. Ask Professor Zhou if you don’t believe me."

"Little Jiang Yun is quite right," Professor Zhou chimed in. "The so-called ‘Lady Yang’s Night Makeup’ is indeed a legend. Some say Yang Guifei didn’t die, but fled to Japan, where she commissioned this painting and sent it back to Emperor Xuanzong. Others claim she died, and Japanese sorcerers stole her bones to make pigment for the painting. But there are too many riddles, too many tales surrounding this artwork; no one has ever actually seen it. Judging by every aspect, this painting depicts the Song Dynasty. It’s just a ‘Beauty at Night’ painting. And look here—I’ve examined it closely. This is an authentic fake."

"What’s an authentic fake?" Huo Mingkun asked.

"It means if you claim it’s genuine, it isn’t; if you say it’s fake, it’s not entirely so. It’s an old counterfeit, pieced together—antique xuan paper, but new mounting. Do you understand?" Professor Zhou explained.

"Can you tell how old the xuan paper is?" Yaoguang asked.

"No, I can’t," Professor Zhou replied. "The paper is thick, not like ordinary paper. In fact, I think it might be a layer of animal hide."

Yaoguang scraped off a sliver with a small knife and handed it to Chen Haixu. "Send it for testing."

Soon, Chen Haixu returned. "Sis, this painting has a strange scent—the same as at the victim’s home and the antique shop. But ever since the scroll was unrolled, the smell has gotten much stronger. It’s really odd—not ink, not perfume, not paper. What is it?"

"I’ll lift the seal and we can ask the thing inside," Yaoguang said, undoing the seal. A flash of light swept through, and a magnetic field radiated from the painting.

"That’s the magnetic field I sensed," Huo Mingkun confirmed.

"Who are you? Show yourself," Yaoguang commanded the painting, but there was no response.

"Who are you? Show yourself." Still, nothing.

"You refuse to come out? Fine. Someone pass me a lighter. If you won’t come out, I’ll just burn you." Yaoguang took the lighter Huo Mingkun handed over and brought it close to the painting.

"You wouldn’t dare," a voice sounded.

"Why wouldn’t I? I’ve dared defy the Ninth Heaven—do you think a little painting demon frightens me?" Yaoguang laughed.

"Hmph. Fine, I’ll come out." After these words, the lady in the painting began to move and, with an ethereal grace, stepped out of the artwork.

"What’s your name?" Yaoguang asked.

"I have no name. Call me whatever you wish," the painting spirit replied.

"Did you kill this man?" Yaoguang showed her a photo of the deceased.

"Yes, I drained his life force," the spirit admitted without hesitation.

"Well, you’re straightforward," Yaoguang smiled. "Why did you kill him? Did you choose your victims at random, or was there a purpose?"

"Of course there was a purpose. I’m a demon, but I don’t kill indiscriminately. I didn’t touch that fat man at the tavern, did I?"

"You couldn’t kill him, could you? He’s no ordinary person," Jiang Yun interjected.

"It doesn’t matter how special—if someone enters my illusion, I have ways. That fat man has spiritual roots, but he’s not my enemy. Why would I kill him?"

"Why are Jiang Junrong and Feng Zhisheng your enemies?" Yaoguang pressed.

"Let me tell you the story," the spirit breathed deeply. "I was once a little fox in the deep mountains, yearning for the human world, enchanted by the beauty of mortal women. So I cultivated diligently for nearly six hundred years, just to become human sooner, to see the world, wear their clothes, don their jewelry. After five hundred and ninety years, I succeeded. But I was still a fox, ignorant of human love and the malice in men’s hearts. I was bullied until someone rescued me. I stayed with him, hoping to keep cultivating until I could remain with him forever. But then, strange happenings plagued our home; people died, and a Taoist priest came to exorcise the spirits. Yet instead of catching the harmful ghost, he seized me, accused me of murder, and destroyed my cultivation, turning me back into a fox. That was not all—they, the priest and my beloved, hung me up, skinned me alive, shaved my flesh, ground my bones into powder, mixed them into pigment, made this painting from my inner hide, painted the beauty after my human form. Then they sold my skin and the painting for a handsome price, bought a fine house, took wives. And I—my soul was trapped in the painting, passed from hand to hand. I slumbered inside, until one day I found I could move again, and resumed my cultivation. Eventually, I transformed into a spirit, a demon, but I never forgot my hatred. I sought out my enemies—even after countless reincarnations, I could recognize their foul scent." The painting spirit’s eyes flashed with malice. "Feng Zhisheng is the man I once loved, and Jiang Junrong is that Taoist priest. That’s why I killed Jiang Junrong first—he was the one who flayed me alive—then sought Feng Zhisheng, who only painted the picture, but you intervened and saved him," the spirit concluded.

"So that strange smell is from your bones," Chen Haixu realized.

"So it was," Yaoguang said. "And Jiang Junrong’s soul?"

"Gone. I drained his life force and devoured his soul. He’s become my nourishment. Heh, I only killed one, but my revenge is done," the spirit said.

"You could have cultivated anew, but you destroyed your own future with hatred—always hatred," Yaoguang sighed.

"How could I not hate? I’d skin them alive if I could," the spirit cried bitterly.

"You’re pitiful. Shall I help you move on?" Yaoguang offered.

"No, I won’t! There are so many of you here—I could feast for years!" With a mad laugh, the spirit lunged at Jiang Yun.

"Scoundrel!" The spirit of the Qingyou Sword flew out from Jiang Yun and slapped the spirit hard.

"Hmph," the spirit snorted, then charged at Huo Mingkun, who responded swiftly with a seal and shot a beam of light at her.

"Ouch!" The spirit dodged by a hair. "Hee hee, I’m not afraid of you." She turned to attack Chen Haixu, but he was faster, sending a talisman flying her way.

One had to admit, this painting spirit was no pushover, darting about with remarkable agility. Seeing these opponents were not easy prey, she went straight for Professor Zhou, who shrank back in terror behind Yitian.

"Insolent!" Yaoguang thundered. A beam of light shot out, knocking the spirit to the ground. Yaoguang’s voice was icy. "I’ll ask you again—will you accept my guidance?"

"No, no, no!" The spirit scrambled up, still trying to attack. The immortals’ formation activated, and the spirit was slammed to the floor again, helpless as a kitten. "Why do you have the right to capture me? Why?" she wailed. "I’ll drain you dry! I’ll drain you!"

"My, what a boast. Phoenix, this little demon wants to drain a true deity—won’t she get indigestion?" Xuan Chen joked.

"A deity? You’re a deity?" The spirit was startled, then sneered, "So what if you are? I’m not afraid!"

Everyone laughed at her childish bravado.

"You’re too noisy, little one. I pity you, so I won’t kill you. Instead, I’ll seal you inside the painting and send you to Guishan Temple. You’ll spend your days listening to scriptures," Yaoguang declared.

"You can’t do this!" the spirit cried.

"And this painting is ugly; let’s change it." With a twist of her hand, the image shifted into a chubby, cheerful good-luck doll.

"You’re too much!" the spirit protested.

"Too much? I haven’t killed anyone. You, on the other hand, have. Enough, you’re too noisy." With that, Yaoguang bent down, grabbed the spirit, and tossed her back into the painting.

"By my divine power, I seal your soul—sealed!" A golden light shot into the canvas. The painting fell from the wall.

Yaoguang rolled up the scroll and handed it to Chen Haixu. "Take this to Guishan Temple. Tell the old abbot to keep it suppressed beneath the Three Pure Ones."

"Alright, sis. But, aren’t you letting her live by sealing her in the painting? What if she escapes one day?" Chen Haixu asked.

"She won’t escape. The seal I used is unbreakable. The spiritual energy at Guishan Temple will only strengthen it over time, weakening the spirit until she merges with the painting and becomes nothing more than a picture. I spared her out of pity—this punishment is a kind of divine retribution," Yaoguang replied.

"Fair enough. But how do we explain this to the victim’s family? That their loved one was killed by a painting demon? Who would believe it?" Xuan Chen wondered.

"Of course they won’t. Lele will revise the report: the deceased had a rare genetic defect. As a software engineer, he was used to staying up late, which—together with other unpredictable factors—led to gene mutation and acute cellular aging. That’s what we’ll report, and then seal the case files. This case can never be made public," Yaoguang said, leaving the conference room.

"Phoenix, how did the test results turn out? The two paper samples are a match," Captain Song said, entering with the report.

"Case closed," Yaoguang said. "Lele’s third autopsy showed the deceased had a rare genetic defect that caused rapid cellular aging. Notify the family to collect the body."

"What about that swindler? What do you plan to do with him?" Captain Song asked.

"He’s yours now. Interrogate and sentence him as you see fit. Tell him to return the money, or he’ll rot in jail," Yaoguang replied.

"Alright, you brought him in, so I’ll do as you say. Thanks for your help; I’m off," Captain Song said, leaving.

Yaoguang sat down, feeling a little dispirited. Hatred—such an awful thing, lingering even for a thousand years...