Ji Heng was just about to speak when Su Er suddenly waved his hand. “Hold on, let me guess—you were about to say it’s because of being influenced by those evil goats.”
Ji Heng shook his head, his expression heavy. “At the root of it, it’s my own lack of self-control. I can’t blame anyone else.”
“......”
Standing before the floor-to-ceiling window, Su Er looked at the faint crimson marks in the glass reflection, then at Ji Heng behind him, silent with his head lowered. He quietly rubbed his neck. That statement was truly the very essence of green-tea hypocrisy.
With a soft sigh, he chose to skip over that chapter. But when his eyes fell on the writhing, struggling Painted-Skin Ghost, they grew far less kind.
“No wonder I’ve been weak and irritable lately. So this is the real culprit.” He dared not go too close, stopping half a meter away, his gaze cold.
Halfway through pointing fingers, he suddenly remembered Ji Heng’s words in the cable car about being overwhelmed with killing intent. “Could it be… you were affected by it, too?”
In Ji Heng’s palm appeared the other serpent’s eye he had acquired in a dead-end instance. He speculated: “The Painted-Skin Ghost is like the poison. This eye is the medicine.”
A shiver ran through Su Er. He’d been focused only on his own fear, but now he looked closer. As the talisman papers weakened, the Painted-Skin Ghost was starting to stretch out. The half of its body that had emerged wasn’t just any piece of skin—on it bulged a small raised spot, and beneath that, a faint hidden seam.
It had a nose and a mouth. The only thing missing was a pair of eyes.
The Painted-Skin Ghost lunged toward Ji Heng.
It never got the chance. Ji Heng flipped the dagger casually in his hand, and the ghost, sensing danger, quickly withdrew.
Su Er’s gaze darkened. The fact Ji Heng didn’t kill it on the spot said enough—either he had some special reason, or else the Painted-Skin Ghost was extremely difficult to destroy.
Sure enough, bad news followed a moment later.
“It once voluntarily released yin energy for you to mass-produce clay figures. As long as those figures live, no matter how badly it’s hurt, it can only ever be weakened.”
Su Er’s expression changed. “Then isn’t that basically invincible?”
Ji Heng shook his head. “Once the clay figures grow enough, they too can seize its yin energy from a distance.”
On the floor, the Painted-Skin Ghost sprawled out like an egg, mocking them, certain they had no way to deal with it.
Su Er really was helpless.
Still, appearances had to be kept. He smiled instead of fuming. “So, the eye is very important to you?”
Ji Heng squeezed the eye in his hand slightly. The ghost immediately convulsed.
A while later, Su Er crouched down and peeled away the last talisman paper himself, as though generously setting it free.
“If you dare possess me again, he’ll crush this eye.”
The Painted-Skin Ghost trembled in rage, but ultimately fell quiet.
Su Er pinched at a bit of its skin with distaste. “So thick.”
“Fuck you!”
The icy voice drilled into his ear. A strange glint flashed in Su Er’s eyes. It could speak—and aside from tone, its voice was practically identical to his own.
“You and I are one,” the ghost said nastily. “Back then, you stripped away your entire skin. After Zhu Yun became a serpent-human, she dug out two eyes. The materials were handed to an old lady. That’s how I was born.”
An old lady?
Su Er pulled out the crying doll, recalling his meeting with the old lady in the Welfare Field. She hadn’t acted as if she recognized him.
Then he thought it through. He had been taken out of the World of Wudu by the game. Even the Ghost King had no memory of that period. How could a mere ghost remember?
He clenched his eyes shut, then lowered his head to look at his own hands, his voice trembling. “I… deliberately created a ghost?”
When he looked up again, the Painted-Skin Ghost stood bent over. Ji Heng voiced the thought in its heart. “What are you so surprised about?”
Creating ghosts—hasn’t that always been happening?
Su Er’s shock dissipated instantly. He scratched his head. “True enough.”
Maybe he was making too big a deal of it.
The Painted-Skin Ghost spoke again: “Zhu Yun was already half-dead when she entered the game.”
Su Er had been in the Tianji City instance. The townsfolk there had fallen into serpent-hood long ago. Zhu Yun’s dead-end instance was set there, proving she had been a native of Tianji City—in other words, she had been a serpent-human from the start.
Looking back, during the days they shared a desk, Zhu Yun never went without hand cream, her skin cracked easily, and she wore the autumn-winter uniform most of the time.
“In her visions of the future, she would die in a dead-end instance, while you would be sealed away with erased memories and taken out of the game. That’s why the cooperation at the Welfare Field happened. Her eyes were placed in me. As long as I live, she could continue on as a ghost.”
The Painted-Skin Ghost spoke without pause. As riddles unraveled, Su Er’s frown only deepened, until at last he interrupted. “Why are you volunteering all this information?”
The ghost answered coolly: “If I didn’t explain myself properly, you’d toss me into a toilet bowl and ask with a smile, ‘I’ve got a flush toilet, do you have a story?’”
“......”
That was the truth, all right.
Ji Heng raised an eyebrow. Back in Su Er’s novice instance, he had seen almost that exact scene with his own eyes, outside the water curtain.
The Painted-Skin Ghost spoke to the point: “So don’t even think about crushing the eyeball. If my essence is destroyed, Zhu Yun will be completely finished as well.”
Su Er frowned. “But her eyes clearly didn’t—”
Before he could finish, he suddenly froze. No matter how badly someone was injured in the instance, once outside, they could recover. Obviously, they had exploited this loophole.
Didn’t that mean… they could forge the Painted-Skin Ghost endlessly?
“Don’t get too optimistic. The only reason you survived skinning without dying was because of a high-grade healing item. Even then, you nearly got killed by monsters during the recovery period.”
Su Er asked the question he most wanted answered: “Why were you able to be taken out of the instance world?”
“Because I’m awesome!” Even without seeing its face, the smugness in its tone was unmistakable. “The Painted-Skin Ghost is naturally skilled at disguise. I pretended to be a dead object and tricked the game.”
Su Er didn’t mock it—this was indeed impressive.
“In the future, when I reach a certain level of growth, Zhu Yun will backflow some of the yin energy, and she’ll have the chance to become the next Ghost King.”
The thought of all the hard-earned yin energy being used to pave the way for someone else’s rise filled the Painted-Skin Ghost with a near-berserk urge.
Su Er nodded in contemplation. “So that’s how it is.”
In a sense, the Painted-Skin Ghost was immortal. It was like a mother body; as long as the clay figure nourished by yin energy survived, it could exist forever. But that also meant it could never truly become powerful—the offshoots would endlessly siphon away its yin energy. Worse still, Zhu Yun was using the eye to steal its yin energy too.
Next, Su Er asked about his own past.
The usually forthcoming Painted-Skin Ghost, however, fell silent this time. After a long pause, it said, “I can’t say. If I do, the game will capture me.”
No sooner were the words spoken than it instantly reverted into the form of a stun gun and tucked itself into his pocket of its own accord.
What had once been a reliable weapon was now exposed for what it truly was. For it to remain brazenly at his side, Su Er had no choice but to stay on full alert.
Ji Heng, too, had no better solution. He simply handed over a few talisman papers for emergencies.
Su Er quickly accepted the reality and shifted his focus back to the instance’s task. “I want to go back and take another look at the Bamboo House.”
Ji Heng glanced at the table. “Finish the porridge first.”
The temperature was just right. Su Er downed it in big gulps, narrowed his eyes in satisfaction, and said, “Let’s go.”
Every few steps, an eagle could be seen perched on the eaves, its sharp gaze sweeping every inch of nearby land like a tight surveillance net. From inside the Bamboo House came the sound of voices. Su Er quickened his pace and went up, finding Ye Xiaocen and the others all there.
Zhou Que sneered, “Heard you weren’t feeling too well?”
Su Er ignored him. Though he’d fainted earlier and suffered a minor injury, it had been worthwhile—the ghost in the family portrait had told him to come to the Bamboo House at midnight.
Zhou Que, finding no amusement, clicked his tongue and went over to Ye Xiaocen instead.
Su Er thought it odd. Giving in so quickly didn’t fit Zhou Que’s character.
Ji Heng picked up a decorative plate and tugged Su Er over to examine it, sneaking a glance at Lin Lele in the process.
Catching the hint, Su Er secretly observed too.
Lin Lele’s complexion had never been great; her forehead and chin bore dark acne marks. Yet now all those flaws had vanished, and her whole skin tone was a shade fairer.
“High chance she’s possessed,” Lin Lele said while studying the family portrait. “The wife is far weaker than the husband. Unless she struck while he slept, it would’ve been easy for him to turn the knife on her instead.”
Chen Buqi, who usually got along well with her, was now quietly keeping his distance, only nodding along perfunctorily.
Unaware of everyone’s change in attitude, Lin Lele kept looking for clues, walking with an odd, swaying step.
Ji Heng whispered, “Let’s check the master bedroom.”
The door was broken, but the sheets were dusty, not bloodstained, proving the murder hadn’t happened during sleep.
In the corner were many empty liquor bottles. Su Er opened the wardrobe, took out a few men’s coats, and sniffed them. The stench of alcohol lingered strongly.
“The husband was a drunkard.”
“Not just a drunkard—an abuser.” Ji Heng stood by the bamboo wall, rubbing a fingertip over faint bloodstains. “The splatter is scattered and light. Not from the murder itself.”
Su Er let out a breath. “So we’ve found the motive.”
The room held little else, so they finished inspecting it quickly.
Finding no more clues, Su Er sighed. “Looks like we’ll have to wait for nightfall.”
Suddenly, noises came from downstairs.
When they hurried down, Lin Lele was clinging to a pillar, twisting around it like a snake. Breathless moans spilled from her lips—crude to say, but even the strongest aphrodisiac might not induce such a state.
Su Er froze mid-step. “What’s going on?”
Even Zhou Que, usually at odds with him, looked grim. “She’s gone crazy—clings to people and bites.” He spat a string of curses. “Looks to me like she’s possessed by a vampire.”
Perplexed at his overreaction, Su Er caught sight of the bite marks on Zhou Que’s neck and immediately understood—he’d almost been the victim.
At that moment, Lin Lele’s body suddenly swelled like a balloon. Her skin grew paler, thinner, until it became translucent as a cicada’s wing.
“Hel… help…”
The last syllable never made it out. Her chest bulged unnaturally, and under the crushing pressure inside, her heart burst outright. Blood sprayed far and wide—though the players dodged quickly enough, they still couldn’t avoid being splattered.
They were all veteran players; scenes like this were nothing new to them.
Ye Xiaocen frowned. “Should’ve kicked her out from the start.”
Blood was everywhere, covering part of the crime scene’s traces.
Ugly words, but true. Even Chen Buqi, who had been close to Lin Lele, said nothing.
Ji Heng suddenly turned toward the door. “Someone’s coming.”
On full alert, they watched as the female chef from Window Three appeared, hefting Lin Lele’s corpse single-handedly. Her white chef’s uniform was instantly soaked in blood.
She didn’t mind in the least. Stroking the dangling arm, she remarked, “Nice skin. Perfect for making Snow Maiden cakes.”
A few steps later she turned back. “Anyone willing to lend a hand? I’ve got to render the fat for filling and skin it too—it’s too much alone.”
“Any benefits?” Ye Xiaocen asked bluntly.
The chef nodded, flashing a grin that made their faces darken. “Two spots only. First come, first served.”
“I’m in,” Zhou Que said impatiently.
Ye Xiaocen expressed the same intent.
Hesitating, Chen Buqi missed his chance. Gritting his teeth, he went upstairs to the master bedroom to search for clues instead.
Before leaving, Zhou Que gave a provocative little snort. Su Er frowned, knowing they’d have to find another way to gather information. After a moment, he said to Ji Heng, “The mountain’s damp, lots of snakes around. Let’s catch a few.”
Ji Heng understood immediately. “To the south.”
“Wine makes you tipsy, fair maid weeps…” Zhu Mei sat in a farmhouse-style restaurant, humming as she disinfected tattoo needles, waiting for her fresh Snow Maiden cakes.
A waft of meat aroma drifted over. Zhu Mei paused, brows tightening slightly. That wasn’t the smell of Snow Maiden cakes.
Su Er snuffed out the fire he had made outside. He and Ji Heng came in carrying a tray.
Zhu Mei’s pupils trembled. “This is…”
Su Er introduced each dish. “Wontons, thin-skin buns, white-skin pastry.”
Every wrapper was paper-thin. The meat inside, half-raw, gleamed pink.
Breathing in deeply, Zhu Mei closed her eyes in pleasure. “It’s human skin.”
She studied the texture of the wrappings, smooth and fine—exactly like Su Er’s own.
“It is my skin,” Su Er said lightly. He pricked his finger, then healed it with an item. “Only one healing potion left. Otherwise, I’d cook you a few more dishes.”
Zhu Mei blinked, then slapped the table and laughed heartily. She didn’t even ask what potion could have such power. Instead, she praised him for being so clever.
From the Window Three’s kitchen, the chef and her player assistants all looked over.
Zhou Que burned with curiosity to know what was happening, but he couldn’t slip away with the chef there.
Ye Xiaocen’s eyes darkened; without a word, he quickened the pace of mixing fat.
“Before eating,” Su Er coaxed, “could you tell me something about the previous lady of the manor?”
Su Er asked in a favor.
Zhu Mei parted her red lips to answer, but then she noticed the wonton twitch slightly.
Su Er calmly explained, “Fresh meat. Only a third cooked. Normal postmortem nerve spasms.”
She accepted this and went on. “She was beautiful. Her husband, though, was always suspicious…”
“Keep your voice down,” Su Er reminded softly.
Zhu Mei gave him a long, knowing look, then lowered her voice so only the two of them could hear. “The husband had the two children spy on her. If she got too close to any guest at the resort, they were to report immediately. For extra pocket money, the kids often made up stories.”
Su Er was stunned. “But that was their own mother.”
Zhu Mei clicked her tongue. “The couple were busy running the resort, so the children were raised by their grandmother in the city. They were never close. To be blunt, born bad seeds. Every holiday homecoming was just another chance to squeeze money.”
Scooping up a wonton, she blew on it gently. Before eating, she added, “When the lady found out, she was furious and wanted to teach the kids a harsh lesson. But, alas…”
She blinked slyly. “In life, they were cunning, and in deat,h they remained so. Rumor has it the two children became ghosts and went into hiding.”
Su Er fell into thought. Now he knew what preparations to make before heading to the Bamboo House that night.
The wonton slipped down her throat intact, wrapper and meat together, without tearing apart.
Zhu Mei thought she felt it still moving in her stomach.
In fact, all the food was crafted from the Painted-Skin Ghost. Since it couldn’t die anyway, why not put it to use?
The ghost cooperated, more or less. It had always consumed people from the outside in, never tried being swallowed from the inside out. Worst case, it could be pulled back out if it failed.
The odd sensation passed in an instant. Zhu Mei, now fully entranced by the shimmering human-skin wrappers, began devouring greedily—one wonton after another, then onto the buns.
Su Er cupped his chin, smiling like a doting mother. He poured her a dish of vinegar and said gently, “If you like it, have more.”
The plan was going smoothly. But since Zhu Mei looked like a key NPC, Su Er couldn’t help but wonder—if the Painted-Skin Ghost really managed to take over her body, would the instance collapse?
Thinking of this, a hint of depression appeared in his expression.
Would he be held responsible?
Ji Heng whispered in his ear, “The sin is the Painted-Skin Ghost’s. If the instance collapses, that’s the host’s problem. What’s it got to do with you, Su Er?”
…That made sense!
Su Er hummed softly in agreement and slid the plate of white-skin pastries closer. “Too much meat gets heavy. Try a little dessert.”
Zhu Mei licked the meat juice from her lips, smiling with seductive charm. “You’re a considerate one.”
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