The Night Watcher of Great Jing - Chapter 113

The brush tip hovered over the painting.

Zhao Li suddenly remembered an awkward problem: she was no good at ink painting.

Shen Yan and the others had been watching her intently. Even the white snake had poked its head out of Shen Yan’s sleeve.

When she stopped, everyone looked confused.

Zhao Li gave a dry laugh. “I can’t paint in ink. Who can?”

One look at Zheng Lian’s face told her he was no refined artist. Han Yin was about to volunteer when Shen Yan took the brush first. “What should I do?”

“Alter the image of hell a little.”

“Turn this frozen hell into the mortal world in high summer, then give them food and clothing. That should temporarily soothe their resentment.”

Zhao Li stepped aside.

Standing before the table, Shen Yan touched the ink-heavy brush to the paper and first painted a round sun in the sky.

The ink mixed with chicken blood was black-red, with granules of raw liver suspended within it.

But to the souls in the painting, it was salvation.

A red sun hung above the barren ice field, driving away the bitter cold that froze even souls.

The tiny figures all looked upward and stretched matchstick arms toward it.

Long torment had stripped away their human reason, but instinct remained. They still yearned for ease and comfort.

With the sun overhead, the blade-like ice slowly melted and the snowy mist dispersed.

Shen Yan lifted his brush again and modified the scene.

With a few strokes, he added green grass to the ground.

His skill was neither inspired nor exquisite.

It was conventional, but it brought genuine relief to the souls.

The little figures grabbed the grass growing at their feet and stuffed it into their mouths.

Shen Yan painted several large cauldrons nearby and filled them with porridge.

The moment the steaming cauldrons appeared, everyone in the painting surged toward them.

The adults managed well enough. Several infants barely able to walk staggered and crawled toward the food, only to be kicked several times.

Even with porridge, however, none could swallow.

Shen Yan added two strokes to each neck, altering throats as thin as pinholes.

Once the adults discovered they could eat, they shoved, tore, and bit at one another without restraint.

The children continued stuffing grass into their mouths.

Frowning, Shen Yan painted a shorter, shallow basin beside them.

They immediately crawled to it and lowered their heads to drink like puppies.

Everyone in the painting now ate and drank. Though the scene was silent, their joy was palpable.

Han Yin relaxed slightly. “Now it is all right.”

No one answered. She looked up and found Zhao Li, Shen Yan, and Zheng Lian still grave.

Before she could understand why, the painting changed.

The first man to reach a cauldron drank without knowing satiety. His belly swelled and swelled.

Then it burst with a soft pop, like a bean squeezed from its skin.

Though this was only ink, Han Yin saw black-and-white organs spray outward.

The figure seemed unable to feel pain. He continued scooping porridge from the cauldron with both hands and drinking.

He was gluttony made flesh.

A chill rose from the back of Han Yin’s head.

It was nearly the sixth month, yet standing in sunlight, she broke into sweat across her back. “Why?”

Bellies continued bursting, blotches of ink exploding across the paper.

Han Yin clapped a hand over her mouth and ran to the corner to vomit.

Such irredeemable malice exceeded what she could bear.

Zhao Li knew this was already a comparatively good outcome.

“Zheng Lian, investigate the bodies of these people,” she ordered.

Using the remaining ink, Shen Yan added more food and clothing to the painting, then rolled it up and returned it to the box.

“Lord Shen and I will take men to Sanshan Street and arrest the two carpenters,” Zhao Li continued. “A-Yin, go home first.”

Supporting herself against the wall, Han Yin rose and wiped her mouth with her sleeve. “May I go with Zheng Lian? Now that I’ve seen this, I won’t feel at ease if I cannot help.”

Zhao Li paused, then smiled. “All right. Go with Zheng Lian. Zheng Lian, you—”

“Rest assured, Commander Zhao. I will look after Miss Han,” Zheng Lian said with cupped hands before she could finish.

With the assignments settled, they split up.

Zheng Lian and Han Yin went to the property brokerage to find Mei San.

Through him they could locate the relative who had sold the house, then find the burial site.

Zhao Li and Shen Yan took the scroll to the nearest Guard post to gather men.

…

Sanshan Street.

It was afternoon when a man and woman entered a furniture shop side by side.

The sharp-eyed assistant saw their exceptional looks and bearing and hurried over warmly.

“What may I help you with?”

Though addressing both, he directed the question toward the beautiful young woman.

Everyone knew that when shopping, the woman decided.

Sure enough, the large-eyed woman looked around. “These are all the same. I don’t like them. I want something custom-made.”

The assistant cautiously glanced at the tall man. He showed no objection and instead looked quite indulgent.

The assistant knew a profitable job had arrived.

Custom pieces cost more than the stock on display.

His smile brightened. “Then you’ve come to the right place! Our Master Chang’s skill is famous for miles around.”

The man casually tossed him a tiny piece of silver. “Bring him out. Let us see whether his skill deserves the praise.”

The assistant caught it delightedly. Even that small fragment was worth at least half a string of coppers. He eagerly seated them, served tea, and went into the rear courtyard.

Soon he returned with a young man whose right hand was hidden inside his sleeve.

“My apologies. Master Chang happens to be unwell today. This is his final disciple, Shaogang. Tell him your requirements,” the assistant introduced.

“As the master’s disciple, you must be very skilled too?” the young woman asked, tilting her head.

The assistant’s heart sank. He cautiously looked at Shaogang.

Sure enough, Shaogang’s face darkened. He hid his right hand farther back and said coldly, “My skill is poor. We won’t take your business. Please leave.”

The young woman widened her eyes. “What manner of hospitality is this? How can you drive customers away?”

Shaogang’s face remained grim. “I said we won’t do it.”

Before he finished, a teacup flew toward him.

The tall man, silent until now, had thrown it. “Who do you think you are, daring to drive us out?”

The cup, still filled with hot tea, flew past Shaogang’s cheek and smashed on the floor, scattering shards.

Shaogang clenched his teeth and glared. The man’s lofty expression inflamed him further.

“We will not take your business. No amount of money will change that.”

“Whether you do it is not for you to decide!” The man rose, his overbearing presence filling the room.

“Please don’t be angry, honored guests. My apprentice is ignorant.”

As the confrontation peaked, the assistant helped out a sallow-faced old man.

Thin and frail, the old man wore an exceedingly meek smile. “Tell me whatever you require. I will ensure you are satisfied.”

At the word satisfied, he lowered his head. A viciousness wholly at odds with his appearance flashed through his eyes.