Content Warning: The following chapter contains graphic and disturbing scenes that may be distressing to some readers. Reader discretion is advised.

[If it wants blood, give it blood; if it wants skin, give it skin]

Before they even got close, the stench of blood hit them. Da Tou quickly drove the civilians away. But when they went in for a look, they nearly threw up.

Song Ying was half naked, but at that point, whether she wore clothes or not made no difference—an entire patch of skin on her back had been torn off. Some of her fingers were missing joints, some were severed clean at the base, and all were covered in dense bite marks.

Yet on her face remained a look of blissful satisfaction—so out of place in that horrific scene, it was downright eerie.

“Little Jie” wanted blood, so she gave it blood. “Little Jie” wanted skin, so she gave it skin.

Huo Zhenye turned his head away and took a deep breath. When he looked up, he saw a dozen yellow paper birds on the tree all staring directly at him. He muttered an explanation: “It’s not that I’m scared.”

It was just that the shock was too much to handle all at once.

The birds gave him a cryptic look, then turned their heads away in unison.

Da Tou sent a few townspeople into the city to report the case. He had to stay behind with Huo Zhenye to secure the scene, though he still couldn’t understand—how did Master Huo know exactly where to find Mrs. Song?

Puzzled, he began surveying the scene. After a while, he turned to Huo Zhenye and said, “Master Huo, why are there so many children’s footprints around Mrs. Song?”

They were faint and shallow—easy to miss unless you looked carefully.

Da Tou stared for a long time, then pointed to one slightly clearer print. “This one… I think I’ve seen it before.”

Huo Zhenye took one glance and remembered immediately: handcrafted Italian leather shoes—identical to the partial print found at the warehouse in Hongkou.

Da Tou swallowed hard. The way she died reminded him of those bizarre supernatural reports in the newspaper.

“Master Huo, who do you think killed Mrs. Song?” Dusk was settling in, and all around them stretched endless farmland. Mrs. Song’s car had been abandoned by the riverbank. Had someone tricked her out here to murder her? But then what about all these small footprints?

Da Tou couldn’t make sense of it. He scratched his head and looked toward Huo Zhenye.

Huo Zhenye pulled a cigarette from his case and leaned against the car. For the first time, Da Tou saw him not immediately jumping into deduction. Normally, in a situation like this, he’d already have something insightful to say.

Huo Zhenye didn’t say anything, but what he was thinking was: Will this one skin be enough?

The police coroner arrived to take over, and Huo Zhenye turned to leave. A few officers still wanted to ask how he’d managed to find Mrs. Song’s whereabouts—but by then, he had already driven off.

“Da Tou, how did you guys find her?” someone asked.

Da Tou shook his head. “I don’t know either. If any of you want to know, go ask Master Huo yourselves—see if he’ll tell you.”

The group exchanged glances. Given Master Huo’s temper, asking didn’t mean you’d get an answer. So far, the only one he was even remotely close to in the whole police bureau was Da Tou.

By the time Huo Zhenye drove back into the city from the outskirts, it was nearly dark.

In the past, this was when every household would bring out their coal stoves into the alley to cook dinner. Kids darted through the streets, and close friends would go eat at each other’s homes.

The neighbors upstairs were cooking scallion oil taro; downstairs, someone was pan-frying ribbonfish. The whole neighborhood would exchange a little of this and that to try each other’s food.

Now, only the adults were cooking in the alley. The children were all locked up in their rooms, peeking out through windows—only to be scolded by their mothers.

“Little Yan! Close that window, now!”

Little Yan quickly shut it, wiping the glass with her sleeve, her eyes wistfully fixed on the Bai family’s little building. She had told Ah Xiu yesterday that they’d play shuttlecock together today.

Some of the more well-informed neighbors knew that Huo Zhenye was a consultant at the police bureau. When they saw him returning, they swarmed over to ask, “Mr. Huo, has the case been solved?”

“Not yet—but soon.”

“We heard the suspect only targets little boys, is that true?” Families with sons were on edge.

Huo Zhenye smiled and nodded politely, weaving his way through a maze of coal stoves to reach the Bai residence. Only when he was sure the smell of coal smoke wasn’t on him did he knock on the door.

Inside, the lights were bright. Bai Zhun sat by the courtyard well, a small altar with incense and offerings of fresh flowers and clean fruit placed before him.

Huo Zhenye walked over to Bai Zhun’s wheelchair. Last night he had performed a ritual to call Little Kai’s soul back; tonight, he was setting up an altar to hunt the paper ghost. Huo Zhenye was worried Bai Zhun’s body wouldn’t be able to take it much longer.

Bai Zhun glanced at him. “It’s already started killing again. The bloodlust is rising. If we don’t catch it soon, it might actually wear that skin.”

He was the Seventh Master; this was his responsibility.

At times like this, Huo Zhenye always felt especially powerless. None of the things he knew could help Bai Zhun in any meaningful way.

After speaking, Bai Zhun took three incense sticks from the holder. As he lit them, he said to Huo Zhenye, “Go and invite the Erlang Shen here.”

He needed to find something for this man to do.

Since Erlang Shen was a deity, his figure was naturally taller than a person’s—he resembled a temple statue. But because he was made of paper and bamboo, he wasn’t very heavy, and Huo Zhenye, being strong, could carry him alone.

He moved the statue of Erlang Shen into the courtyard and asked curiously, “Why aren’t we inviting Lord Impermanence this time?”

“Impermanence handles ghosts and departed souls. That thing—we’re not even sure it’s a ghost.”
Perhaps it was a spirit born of resentment or obsession. But whatever it was, no evil entity could hide under the celestial eye of Erlang Shen.

The greater the god you invoked, the more energy it took.

That paper spirit, though crafted in form by an artisan, had been given its “divinity” by Mrs. Song. After killing three people, it had ultimately turned on her too. Having broken free from its creator’s control, no one could say what it might do next.

With great reverence, Bai Zhun lit incense, prepared red ink, dipped his brush, and painted eyes onto the paper effigy of Erlang Shen.

Then he knelt before the paper deity and set it alight. The paper and bamboo clearly burned, yet made no sound. Before it was fully consumed, a gust of wind rose in the courtyard—and in that wind, the figure of Erlang Shen stood upright.

They offered paper as sacrifice, borrowing a sliver of the god’s divine might to hunt the malevolent spirit.

A sudden whirlwind kicked up in the courtyard. From Erlang Shen’s forehead, his celestial eye flashed a burst of golden light—then vanished into the night.

Ah Xiu brought over a clay jar, which Bai Zhun placed at the center of the wind formation. He wrote a Spirit Binding Talisman and stuck it onto the jar.

After all that, the color in Bai Zhun’s lips paled even further. Huo Zhenye quickly supported him by the shoulder, placing a feather cushion behind his waist.
“This kind of thing… can it be learned?”

Bai Zhun gave him a languid look. “Why?”

His own master had taught him this, and in a few more years, he’d need to take on a disciple to pass on the teachings of the Seventh Branch.

But children were all annoying—unformed temperaments, unclear morals. Just thinking about having to raise and guide a child, spending all that effort to prevent them from straying, made Bai Zhun’s bones ache.

“Then… do you think I could learn?” Huo Zhenye pulled out a piece of milk chocolate, peeled the silver foil, and held it to Bai Zhun’s mouth.

The thing looked dark and strange, but smelled rich and sweet. Bai Zhun frowned and sniffed it suspiciously. “I don’t eat coffee cubes.”

Huo Zhenye laughed. “It’s called chocolate—it warms you up and gives you energy.” Bai Zhun’s hands and feet were already going cold.

Bai Zhun stuck out the tip of his tongue and gave it a lick. Huo Zhenye hadn’t expected that—his fingers tightened slightly. Bai Zhun had already taken a bite.

Warm and energizing? He couldn’t feel it yet. But the chocolate was bitter-sweet, with a rich, mellow aroma.

Bai Zhun was quite satisfied. This should definitely be kept in the house from now on.

“I’m being serious—can I learn?” Huo Zhenye asked again. At the very least, he wanted to be of some help.

“What do you even know? You can’t even cut bamboo fibers with your knife.” As you age, your fingers stiffen. Only if you start learning from a young age do your hands become truly obedient.

Huo Zhenye chuckled. “I can carve. And I can paint—both Chinese and Western styles, not too bad either.”

Bai Zhun raised his brows slightly, surprised that this pampered young master actually knew a fair bit.

The corners of Huo Zhenye’s lips lifted. “If you don’t know music, chess, calligraphy, painting, seal carving, or stone inscription—how can you call yourself a true playboy? Just keeping falcons, walking dogs, and smoking opium—that’s what you call a wastrel.”

He’d studied abroad. At first, he learned Western medicine, then he studied painting. At home, he had already been trained in traditional Chinese painting. His mother, Madam Huo, wanted him to be smart enough to outshine the fourth concubine’s son, but not so ambitious as to surpass his eldest brother.

Music, chess, calligraphy, painting—he’d learned it all. His favorite was painting. The deeper he immersed himself, the more pleased Madam Huo was.

Western techniques differed from Chinese painting, with more emphasis on realism in color and lighting. Combining the two, Huo Zhenye felt his paintings were quite good.

Heh, he even feels a little proud of it.

Bai Zhun gave him a look, then ordered Ah Xiu to bring out some paper. “Draw one. Let me see.”

Huo Zhenye went to the kitchen and burned a stick of charcoal. There was plenty of bamboo fiber at Bai Zhun’s place. He wrapped the charcoal with a bamboo strip, using it like a pencil.

He began to sketch, outlining and shading on the blank paper.

Bai Zhun could see through the eyes of the yellow birds, but not through those of Erlang Shen. All he could do was watch as the incense stick burned shorter and shorter, faster and faster.

Suddenly—*snap!*—a spark burst from the incense, and the flame went out. The stick hadn’t finished burning.

Bai Zhun’s expression darkened. As expected, someone was interfering. He let out a cold snort, moved two fingers slightly, and lit another incense stick with yellow paper, placing it in the burner to continue the ritual.

“Where’s that chocolate? Give me another piece.” He hadn’t noticed before, but it really did warm him up and lift his spirits.

Bai Zhun ate the whole piece this time.

Just as the second stick was nearly burned through, a faint golden shadow of Erlang Shen appeared within the swirling wind. He was bare-handed, grasping a shadowy mass, and he forced that shadowy mass into the jar.

The earthen jar was fired with cinnabar mixed in, and the shadowy mass was continuously drawn out and absorbed into it, stirring up a burst of wind. The jar rocked violently from side to side, making *dong-dong* sounds, as it tried to escape its confinement.

Bai Zhun flicked his fingertip, and the yellow talisman on the jar flew up and smack—sealed the lid shut.

Erlang Shen’s divine form dissolved, turning into faint golden specks that dispersed into the air.

The pile of softly rustling ash on the ground was also swept away by the wind, its warmth completely gone.

Huo Zhenye watched all this. When he saw the jar continue to tremble even with no wind, goosebumps rose on his arms. He asked Bai Zhun, “What do we do with that thing now?”

“Put it in the attic, of course.”

Ah Xiu was already carrying the jar up to the attic. For spirits like this one, sealing it with cinnabar talismans for forty-nine days would purify it into harmless energy, which would then naturally dissipate.

At that point, the jar could be tossed into a furnace—earth would return to earth, and cinnabar would return to dust.

Huo Zhenye thought back to the time he went up to the attic to move a bamboo bed. After he got a wooden bed, he moved the bamboo one upstairs. The little attic was dusty, and jars were stacked against the wall—he’d just assumed Bai Zhun was storing clutter there.

“All those jars upstairs…”

“If they’re sealed, then yes, they’re all the same.”

“None of them are past the forty-nine days yet?” Huo Zhenye’s scalp prickled. Realizing those jars were full of things like that creature just now—like Jin Dangui demon—and they were kept in the house every day, made him realize Bai Zhun was truly made of stronger stuff.

“Some have already passed,” Bai Zhun leaned his head on his hand and thought for a moment. “I just haven’t bothered to burn them.”

Huo Zhenye was momentarily speechless. He didn’t know whether to praise or scold him. With a sigh, he said, “When you’re feeling better, go through them. I’ll take them out and burn them.”

They couldn’t just be left up in the attic forever.

After he said that, he handed his drawing to Bai Zhun. He hadn’t finished it—time had been too short.

On a small square of white paper, only black, white, and grey were used.

It was a sketch of a dragon in the clouds. Only the outlines were drawn, with no fine detailing yet, but the form of the dragon already conveyed the surging of clouds and mist.

Bai Zhun’s gaze landed on the dragon’s eye.

Huo Zhenye tilted his head, watching his expression, and smiled. “So? Can I be accepted as your apprentice?”

Bai Zhun refused to let him get smug. He set the paper aside and closed his eyes. “The drawing’s not bad. For now, you can count as an apprentice—but we’ll have to see… if you have the right bones for it.”

He lay back down and shut his eyes.

But his mind was still turning.

That strip of human skin… where had it gone?