Chapter 71 The Painted Skin Ghost Appears
A crescent moon hung high in the dark blue night sky, its silvery moonlight as cold as water, barely illuminating the ground, unable to penetrate the deeper, dark alleyways, casting only blurry shadows at the alley entrances.
By the faint moonlight, a hunched and strange figure could be seen deep within a narrow alley. He wore tattered gray clothes, their original material and color indistinguishable. His long, tangled hair, like a clump of withered grass, hung haphazardly on his head, almost completely obscuring his face. His face was covered in congealed and undried bloodstains, making it impossible to discern his features, except for a pair of bloodshot eyes. He paced back and forth in the alley like a trapped beast, muttering indistinctly, "Hungry...so hungry...why are there so few people today? Are they all hiding? Did I wake up too late? No, no...I have to find the next one quickly! If I don't find any more 'material,' this skin of mine won't hold up anymore!"
Peeling the skin is too troublesome, time-consuming, and risky. If a suitable time cannot be found, just removing the heart is also acceptable—the hot, beating heart can provide the much-needed "nutrients," although the effect is far less than that of a complete new skin.
The figure was somewhat ethereal, unlike the solid bodies of ordinary people. It seemed to be just a thin humanoid outline, with only a skeleton barely supporting that "skin." It looked light and airy, as if a strong wind could blow it away completely. Yet, when it occasionally clenched its fists, the knuckles protruded, and it looked unusually powerful, as if it could easily slice through the toughest cowhide, let alone the softest human skin.
This is the source of the fear that hangs over the city, keeping everyone awake at night—the skinned monster that people talk about and that stops children from crying at night.
Just then, faint, hurried footsteps echoed from the main street outside the alley. The Painted Skin Ghost abruptly raised his head, his scarlet eyes instantly gleaming like a hungry wolf spotting its prey. He cautiously moved to the shadows at the alley entrance and peered out.
A thin, frail girl walked briskly past, her head bowed. She wore a coarse cloth dress, faded from washing, and her hair was simply tied up in a bun with a plain wooden hairpin; she wore no other adornments. She walked hurriedly, her arms slightly wrapped around herself, seemingly cold, or perhaps in a rush to get home, oblivious to the danger around her.
The girl passed by the alley, about to leave the area. The Painted Skin Demon didn't think much of it; hunger and the craving for "fresh ingredients" overwhelmed all vigilance. His hunched figure instantly straightened like a compressed spring, creating a gust of cold wind as he rushed out with incredible speed.
His hands were claw-like, his fingers like hooks, aimed straight for the girl's unsuspecting back, specifically her heart. If the grip landed firmly, it would be enough to rip out her heart instantly.
However, the expected sensation of claws piercing flesh and the girl's scream did not come. Just as his fingertips were about to touch the girl's clothes, the girl seemed to have eyes in the back of her head, nimbly taking half a step forward, just avoiding the fatal blow. At the same time, she turned around.
The demon's attack missed, and he paused slightly. Only then did he realize that the girl's face did not show the extreme fear he had seen on the other victims. Her expression was eerily calm, and her eyes were silently watching him.
The monster paused, a flicker of unease crossing its mind, but the arrogance born of its long-standing success and the burning hunger for food immediately overwhelmed it. Forget why she wasn't afraid, kill her first! Its fierce, twisted expression grew even more ferocious as it swung its claws again, this time aiming straight for the girl's face and head, as if determined to rip a hole in her unusually composed head to see what was inside.
His hands, which had torn apart countless pieces of flesh, seemed to have struck an invisible yet indestructible wall when they were still half a foot away from the girl's face. With two extremely slight "crack" sounds, his invincible ghost claws drooped down limply at an extremely bizarre angle.
"Bang!"
Before the painted-skin ghost could even comprehend what was happening, his entire body was violently flung away, crashing heavily onto the cold, hard bluestone ground, the impact nearly shattering his skeleton.
The cruel, bloodthirsty glint in his crimson eyes vanished instantly, leaving only immense fear and bewilderment from the depths of his soul. He struggled to lift his head and look at the girl who still stood silently in the same spot.
What I had seen earlier was a slender, frail human girl, and now… she still appeared as a human girl, but her simple cloth clothes had somehow transformed into an extremely exquisite and opulent dress—a pale blue base embroidered with intricate and mysterious patterns in silver thread, the hem flowing like moonlight. Her simple hair, held in a bun with a wooden hairpin, had become a high, elaborate updo, adorned with various jewels and precious stones that shimmered with a warm glow in the moonlight. However, this extremely rich and luxurious color and accessories were completely overshadowed by the girl's incomparably radiant face, which seemed to gather all the beauty and spirit of the world.
This young girl was none other than Rong Jiang.
Previously, I had only used a small illusion to lure him out, which made him appear to be an easy target in the monster's eyes.
"A skinned monster?" Rong Jiang coldly stared at the wretched mass of what she called a monster on the ground, her voice clear and cold, like ice beads falling onto a jade plate. This was no mountain spirit or wild monster; it was clearly a soul formed from resentment, and a rather special one at that—a painted-skin ghost!
She rebuked, "Since you are already dead, why don't you go to the underworld to report? Instead, you linger in the human world, harming living beings and causing chaos in the region."
"Who...who are you?!" The Painted Skin Ghost's eyes were bloodshot, as if he hadn't communicated normally with anyone for a long time. His voice was hoarse and broken, filled with shock and uncertainty. He tried to struggle to get up, but found that his shattered soul was difficult to reassemble.
"You are... a ghost messenger from the underworld? No, no, no, impossible!" He quickly dismissed his doubts, his voice trembling slightly. "I've dealt with those useless ghost messengers before; they're incredibly stupid. How could they possibly be as... strong as you?"
Rong Jiang's aura remained perfectly concealed, undetectable to ordinary demons. But when faced with the supreme being of the underworld, any ghost would unconsciously feel an absolute suppression and fear originating from the level of life and the very source of rules.
As the superior of these "idiots" and "useless fools," Rong Jiang raised an eyebrow upon hearing this, and actually began to seriously consider the question—had the underworld's ghost messengers stationed in the human world become so incompetent that they were deemed "idiots" and "useless" by a mere painted-skin ghost? Could it be that they couldn't even defeat this painted-skin ghost? On second thought, Rong Jiang felt something was amiss. If any ghost messenger had truly fought this painted-skin ghost and been at a disadvantage, or even unable to capture it, how could such a serious situation not be reported? According to the laws of the underworld, this painted-skin ghost should have been placed on a priority arrest list long ago, and dealt with by higher-ranking ghost messengers or even judges.
So, is this ghost also a historical problem left over from the recent chaos in the underworld? Or... is there something else going on with his so-called "dealing"?
Rong Jiang gazed intently at the deeply wrinkled face of the Painted Skin Ghost, and sighed silently in her heart. She really should have urged Huai'an to speed things up. The Human Realm was riddled with problems, one here, another there—it was no good! When she returned, she would definitely give it a thorough overhaul.
"A demon in disguise." Rong Jiang's lips parted slightly, revealing his true form. "Why have you taken so many lives? As far as I know, a single, intact human skin is enough for you to wear as a disguise for a long time. Why change it so frequently, only to increase your bloodshed?"
She was indeed somewhat puzzled. Before death, a "painted-skin ghost" is often nothing more than a pile of bones, and the same is true after death. That's why they need to wear human skin to briefly walk in the sunlight and blend into the crowd. A properly processed human skin can last for a while, so why would it need to be replaced almost every two weeks or even less? Moreover, painted-skin ghosts usually don't act so blatantly. Their common practice is to wear human skin, disguise themselves as normal humans, and look for suitable targets. The bloodied corpses, of course, would be carefully disposed of. Unlike this one, who brazenly dumps the victim's body in the street, committing crimes repeatedly and causing a city-wide scandal—is he afraid of going unnoticed? This doesn't fit the painted-skin ghost's usual secretive nature.
The painted-skin demon, its neck stiff with fear, seemed to have been asked a crucial question, which ignited a ferocity within it. It roared, "So what? I want to! I need to! What's it to you?!"
"Nothing will happen." Rong Jiang's face remained expressionless, but her phoenix eyes narrowed slightly, staring intently at the Painted Skin Ghost. Her gaze seemed to pierce through his ugly exterior, looking directly at his very soul. "At most, it's just a matter of how many murders you've committed and how many lives you've taken. You'll spend as many years as you'll spend in the various levels of hell in the underworld. The Hell of Skinning, the Hell of Heart-Digging, the Hell of Boiling Oil... there will always be a suitable place for you."
Her lips even curled slightly upwards, revealing an almost cruel smile, like a Udumbara flower blooming silently in the night, breathtakingly beautiful, yet chilling even ghosts to the bone. "So, now you can tell me, you've killed so many people, why is there almost no trace of resentment from the dead in the city? How did you manage that?"
She had checked the records of life and death in this place, and the records for the past few months were surprisingly "normal." There were no unusual records of people suddenly dying before their lifespan was over. In other words, according to the official records of the underworld, the dead were, to some extent, "dying of old age" or "destined to die." This was abnormal, very abnormal. Where had the resentment, fear, and unwillingness of those lives cruelly taken away gone?
Stared at by such eyes that control the cycle of life and death, the Painted Skin Ghost felt a chill run through his body. From the top of his head to every toe bone, he felt cold everywhere, as if the coldest winter wind had penetrated his "leaky" skin and skeleton, almost freezing him to death.
The painted-skin ghost's lips trembled uncontrollably, his scarlet eyes widened, and he screamed in a trembling voice, almost breaking out in a groan: "Who are you? What kind of person are you?! You are not an ordinary cultivator!" He repeated this sentence, and the entire ghost seemed to be somewhat deranged and confused due to the extreme fear and shock to his understanding.
“You just need to tell me,” Qingling’s gentle voice rose slightly, carrying a seductive tone, “how did you do it, hmm? Tell me, and perhaps… I can spare you some suffering.”
The painted-skin demon seemed truly stunned, or rather, his reason overwhelmed by the immense fear. His scarlet eyes flickered uncertainly, and after a moment of hesitation, he finally spoke in a hoarse voice, "I'll tell you... of course, it's because... because..."
His voice grew softer and softer, and Rong Jiang seemed to lean forward slightly, wanting to hear him more clearly.
Just then, another unexpected event occurred.
"—You'll know when you die, won't you?! Go to hell!" The Painted Skin Ghost suddenly launched an attack. He lay on the ground, seemingly struggling in pain, but in reality, he had been secretly gathering power and using words to numb his opponent. This attack was a concentrated expression of his ghostly energy, determined to succeed.
He calculated the distance precisely, concluding that Rong Jiang, having just slightly leaned forward, would absolutely be unable to avoid this sneak attack that concentrated all his power.
However, ideals are often grand, while reality is often harsh.
The "sure-win" strike in the mind of the painted-skin demon couldn't even get within three feet of Rong Jiang's body.
The two eerie, deformed arms, when they were still a foot away from Rong Jiang's neck, seemed to have crashed into an invisible wall.
With two even crisper cracking sounds, the two outgrown attacking arms of the Painted Skin Demon shattered inch by inch, starting from their fingertips.
Where the arm once stood, now only two jagged breaks remained, revealing white bone fragments. The bones were also bizarre, covered only by a thin, translucent membrane, without any flesh or blood attached, making them look particularly eerie.
The Painted Skin Ghost let out a heart-wrenching scream. This time, the pain far surpassed anything before. The Painted Skin Ghost's name emphasizes the "skin," but the human skin is merely a disguise and outer garment. The true core of its soul lies in its ghostly bones, forged and solidified through resentment, inextricably linked to its origin. The complete destruction of the bones in its two arms, along with the primal ghostly energy within them, is tantamount to erasing a portion of its very soul's essence.
Physical pain was nothing compared to the agony that directly affected the very essence of the soul—that was truly agonizing, enough to drive any being mad. The intense pain caused the Painted Skin Ghost to convulse wildly on the ground, its ugly body contorted into unbelievable shapes, hoping to alleviate the pain that penetrated to its very core, but all in vain.
The painted-skin demon clenched his upper and lower teeth together so tightly that, due to excessive force, he tore off several pieces of the already tattered skin around his lips, revealing his dark red gums and jagged teeth, making him look extremely terrifying, like a demon crawling out of the deepest part of hell.
After rolling and struggling meaninglessly on the ground a few times, the already badly damaged human skin covering the Painted Skin Ghost could no longer adhere to it due to the lack of sufficient soul power and violent movements. It slipped off the twisted skeleton like taking off clothes.
The limp human skin, like a discarded rag, dragged on the ground, leaving winding streaks of blood on the bluestone slab.
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