Chapter Sixty-Six: Painted Skin

“No.” The newcomer responded swiftly, decisively denying it.

Sure enough, cultivators’ minds are not so easily deceived. Even though Chen Jin thought this ancient relic hadn’t been bombarded by the overwhelming information of later times, she still possessed a mind far sharper than most.

It would not be easy to fool her.

“So that means there’s someone else?” Chen Jin pressed on.

The person said nothing, only nodded.

With that nod, Chen Jin felt himself once again being led in circles.

“Who exactly are you…” Chen Jin still wanted to know the person’s identity.

Since she wished to continue the Chen family line, it meant she must be a member of the family, perhaps an elder who had left to cultivate. Yet her voice was ambiguous, neither distinctly male nor female, making it impossible for Chen Jin to draw any more conclusions.

If he could just check the Chen family genealogy or ask Chen Sanquan’s wife, he might uncover her identity. But clearly, she wasn’t going to give him the time.

So Chen Jin decided to gamble—perhaps she would reveal herself by accident. After all, everyone has moments of carelessness.

But evidently, luck was not on Chen Jin’s side.

She stared at him silently, refusing to answer.

Since that’s the way it is… Chen Jin muttered inwardly.

He swiftly flicked his right arm.

A streak of light shot from his hand, darting straight for the black-robed figure.

Clang—

She twisted her hand, blocking the attack. The Tiger Fang Flying Sword was deftly caught between her fingers, which were only covered with a black cloth wrap.

But—

“Come down!” Without anyone knowing when, Chen Jin had already darted in front of her. He reached up and yanked away the cloth covering her face.

His gaze swept quickly over her features.

A woman, unfamiliar; he did not recognize her.

She appeared to be around thirty, her eyes sharp, her brows frosted with chill. She was clearly incensed, but Chen Jin, clutching the black cloth, retreated back to his original spot, and with a flick, the Tiger Fang Flying Sword returned to his arm.

Just one of Chen Jin’s little tricks, nothing more.

She had, in the end, fallen for it.

“Are you tired of living?!” the woman snarled in fury.

“What should I call you, senior?” Chen Jin smiled, bowing respectfully.

Although he had tricked her so easily, he still addressed her as “senior” out of respect for her age, hoping to soothe her wrath.

Besides, he needed to ask many questions now. The heart of the matter lay with this woman.

He was not stingy with courtesy—after all, she was an elder. By calling her “senior,” he hoped she would not stoop to bickering with a junior.

But women are the hardest to placate; Chen Jin had read The Heaven Sword and Dragon Saber, but hadn’t learned its true essence.

Suddenly, a fragrant wind swept toward him. Chen Jin hurriedly grabbed Gao Kang and Gao Jiu, leaping a full ten feet away to avoid the oncoming scent.

Slap—

He dodged the fragrance, but a white, delicate hand suddenly appeared at his chest, striking hard.

Chen Jin’s body was already sturdy; even so, he staggered back three steps before neutralizing the force of the blow.

Cough—

A mouthful of old blood spurted forth, splattering the woman’s face just as she was about to press the attack.

She quickly withdrew, wiping furiously at her face with a sleeve.

“Thank you, senior, for clearing the blockage,” Chen Jin said, releasing the two in his grasp and bowing again.

He looked perfectly refreshed, but inside he knew he was still somewhat injured.

Indeed, these people who appeared only slightly older than him were no trifling matter. Even if her cultivation wasn’t higher, her experience far surpassed his. He would have to be cautious in the future, especially when dealing with those white-bearded old men—who knew if one might be a hidden master.

“You!” The woman, still wiping her face, pointed at Chen Jin, her hand trembling with rage.

“Senior, you must know that Chen Sanquan has already died an unnatural death. He, too, was a descendant of the Chen family. How could you let him die without seeking justice?” Chen Jin decided to reason with emotion, then with logic, and finally, if necessary, force.

“That boy deserved it, bringing unclean things home. If my Chen family descendants had been defiled, I would not have spared him lightly.” The woman’s reply was harsh and indignant.

“Oh?” It seemed this trip had not been in vain—there was a real secret here. And what was this “unclean thing”?

“What exactly…” Chen Jin pressed.

“A painted skin.” The woman replied.

“Painted skin?!” Chen Jin was startled.

The name “painted skin” appeared in Strange Tales from a Chinese Studio, but that tale was set in Bingzhou, not in the land of Qilu.

And under the painted skin lurked a malevolent spirit—not the fox demon from the movies, but a true fiend: blue-faced, fanged, as fierce as a giant crab, corrupting the mind with just a glance.

These painted skin fiends specialized in clawing open people’s chests and devouring their hearts.

Recently, there had been several deaths by heart extraction; it seemed all were the work of the painted skin.

“That’s a painted skin that gained sentience—not a demon or evil ghost hiding its foul flesh beneath a painted hide,” the woman explained.

“Oh!” Chen Jin’s eyes lit up.

So… a bold idea surfaced in his mind.

If, in ancient times when the world’s spiritual energy was abundant, ordinary objects could gain sentience—then as the world’s spiritual energy gradually recovers in modern times, could things also become spirits?

He suppressed the wild speculation.

“Why don’t you drive it away or subdue it?” Chen Jin asked.

“I am no match for it,” she replied, matter-of-factly.

So that was why she had watched Chen Sanquan die without intervening?

Even if there was little familial affection, he was still a kinsman—she could have at least warned him, kept him from falling victim to the painted skin demon.

“He was already bewitched by it—I was powerless,” she added, her tone full of helplessness.

“Was that black shadow I chased before you?” Chen Jin asked.

“That was me,” the woman said, pointing to herself.

“Where is the painted skin? Is it in this manor?” Chen Jin continued.

“It excels at concealment—it’s extraordinarily difficult to find,” the woman replied.

“Oh, is that so?” Chen Jin tilted his head, studying her.

“You suspect me?” She caught his meaning at once.

“No, it’s just that my uncle-master is standing right behind you…” Chen Jin smiled.

…