Chapter 35: The Person in the Painting

A hint of chill stirred Feng Xue from his slumber. As he took in his surroundings, his memory felt momentarily fractured.

He gazed at the rolling mountain ranges in the distance, the surging river flowing past, the hazy moon hidden behind clouds in the sky, and the fine snow drifting down like stardust. Feng Xue couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong.

Walking along the riverbank littered with gravel, Feng Xue moved forward slowly. He did not know where he was going, but he knew that standing still would change nothing.

Sparse but stubborn weeds began to emerge between the cracks in the rocks. Several pleasure boats drifted down the river, with talented scholars and beautiful women drinking and making merry on board, while an old man sat quietly by the riverbank, fishing.

As he continued, the stony riverbank gave way to grassy fields. There were more signs of life along the way: the poor carried loads on shoulder poles, the rich rode in carriages, and occasionally, a shepherd boy could be heard playing a flute in the hills. Beside a small stream flowing from the river, children played while women washed clothes.

The atmosphere was steeped in ancient charm and classic elegance. As Feng Xue walked, his consciousness grew increasingly clear. He suddenly narrowed his eyes, walked to the water's edge, and addressed the back of a young woman in coarse cloth and a headscarf who was sitting by the stream, picking vegetables:

"Are you done playing yet? Whatever you want to do, hurry up—I have to go back to sleep once you're finished!"

The young woman’s body stiffened, and the entire world froze as if time had stopped. She turned around, revealing a face of ethereal, otherworldly beauty. The headscarf on her head dissipated like melting frost, and her dark hair cascaded down like a waterfall. In the blink of an eye, the coarse cloth garments she wore transformed into a simple, elegant ru-qun, as if she were a performer changing masks in a Sichuan opera.

"With so many people on the road, how did you know it was me?" The cold, monotonous voice that emerged from her lips used a distinct accent; unlike the Mandarin-like speech he had heard in Ping'an County, it was soft and melodic despite the harsh, icy words.

Feng Xue did not dwell on this. He pressed his lips together, keeping his tone as flat as possible:

"Your texture is clipping."

"Clipping? What is that?" The woman could not grasp his meaning. Feng Xue didn't intend to explain, merely pointing at the stream and then at the vegetable basket, stifling a laugh:

"They are in the painting, but you are not."

To his surprise, this cryptic remark seemed to strike a nerve. She stood up abruptly, her cold voice tinged with anger:

"What do you mean I'm not? I am right here!"

"They live within the painting, but you... you've just flattened yourself and pasted yourself onto it." Feng Xue forced out the pretentious line, but eventually, the corners of his mouth twitched upward.

The truth was, this ghost lady didn't seem very bright. While the entire illusion was crafted with excellent, classic Chinese-style aesthetic, she herself looked like a cutout pasted from another image. Though the edges were handled passably, the proportions, angles, and various details were subtly discordant. Not only did her hand completely cover the vegetables she was supposedly picking, but even the flowing water was obscured by her form—it was like a prank by a Photoshop novice who hadn't mastered layer order, ruining the mood of the entire illusion.

Yet, it was precisely this lack of coordination that allowed Feng Xue to fully awaken from the dream, rather than being trapped as he had been at the Fox Immortal Temple, where he hadn't realized something was wrong until he had produced enough sweat to bathe two ghosts.

Feng Xue’s words left the ghost stunned. She remained frozen for over ten seconds, her fair skin flushing with a rosy hue. Suddenly, the world spun around Feng Xue, and a furious shout echoed in his ears:

"Get lost!"

...

"Hum!" Feng Xue snapped awake. Feeling the night chill, he shuddered and glared into the dark:

"Well, that’s rich—trying to flip the script on me, are you?"

He realized he had been dragged into an illusion by the spirit haunting the painting. Since his cultivation was still shallow and he couldn't even master basic ghost-taming arts, he couldn't drag the ghost out to spank her. He could only sigh, deciding to take his revenge once his cultivation had improved.

Though wrapped in a sleeping bag, the night air was biting. Unable to fall back asleep, he called out softly:

"Yunxi... Yunxi! Liu Yunxi!"

"Ah, yes!" Hearing Feng Xue’s call during her light sleep, Liu Yunxi was clearly nervous and responded immediately. Feng Xue was speechless that the silly snake still hadn't gotten used to being called by her name, but he went straight to the point:

"How much do you know about ghosts?"

"Huh?" Liu Yunxi hadn't expected Feng Xue to stay awake in the middle of the night just to ask this. However, considering her massive debt, she suppressed her complaints and replied obediently:

"Not much. Only what I heard from Granny Fox Immortal."

"Tell me what you know, then." Feng Xue tightened his sleeping bag and wiggled like a caterpillar to the tent opening. Liu Yunxi gathered her thoughts and explained:

"Ghosts are the form a human soul takes in the world when driven by obsession. Without a physical body to support them, this obsession gradually dissipates..."

"I know that. Ninth Aunt told me before. Tell me something I don't know, like the levels of ghosts or their methods of cultivation." Feng Xue interrupted her rudely. Liu Yunxi had no choice but to reorganize her thoughts:

"You know about the cultivation path from profound arts to ghost immortals, so you must be asking about those who have fallen into evil, right?"

"Mhm," Feng Xue grunted, as if listening to a bedtime story to help him drift off.

Liu Yunxi, having no temper, continued:

"Newly dead wild ghosts have limited power; they can't even make themselves visible. They can barely enter a person's dreams while they sleep. Occasionally, the Underworld permits ghosts who did good deeds in life to communicate with their descendants through dreams.

"Some ghosts refuse to go to the netherworld and will use dream-visitation to give mortals nightmares, sustaining themselves by feeding on their fear—a form of negative willpower.

"Others, unsatisfied with just feeding on willpower, also consume life essence and blood, using the vitality of the living to supplement their own yin energy to cultivate. These are what we typically call 'Evil Ghosts.' The two at the Fox Immortal Temple were at this level.

"Evil Ghosts are actually very weak. They have no physical form and can only use basic illusions. The life force of a third-rate martial artist is enough to keep them at bay, and they cannot move during the day.

"However, as they consume more vitality, they gain supernatural abilities, such as using spirit power to move objects. They develop resistance to the life force of common martial artists and can even use that energy to cultivate. At this stage, a ghost's eyes will glow red; the deeper the color, the stronger they are. They are generally called 'Fierce Ghosts' or 'Red-Eyed Fierce Ghosts.'

"If a Red-Eyed Fierce Ghost continues to cultivate, their entire body will glow red, becoming a 'Red-Clad Specter.' At this level, even ordinary ghost immortals cannot handle them. Their ghost aura can erode magical power and life force. Only top-tier profound masters or Underworld ghost kings can suppress them. Fortunately, the demon energy we demons cultivate acts as a restraint against yin-natured spirits. We don't need a demon king; any accomplished demon can suppress a Red-Clad Specter."

At this point, Liu Yunxi hesitated, feeling a bit insecure, and added weakly:

"Of course, our demon energy is also restrained by magical power and life force..."