Riverside flowers and fragrant grass, water and trees swaying in the idle breeze.
The picturesque spring scenery of Jiangnan rushed in through the System's live feed.
In between official duties, Rong Chunsong occasionally tapped open the Husband-Viewing Panel to take a look, casually showing off a few lines, and adding a few more points of Favorability Value. Off and on, bit by bit, it had already climbed to eight points. But after eight, there was no more movement. It seemed even this big-shot male lead's admiration for the strong, the wealthy, and the rich had its limits.
After observing for a while, she discovered that this big-shot male lead was even stingier than she had imagined—he would rather split a single coin into three before spending it.
In the original work, Shang Daoling's appearances in the mid-to-late stages were nothing short of magnificent and resplendent, putting on full airs and graces, clearly bankrolled by the true gold and silver of his heretical cult. As for the early stages, the book only described him as handsome with simple, plain attire—nothing more.
So "simple and plain" meant that all his clothes were actually conjured with Illusion Arts, and in essence, they were still the same few Daoist robes he had been wearing for who knows how many years.
By all logic, this kid had earned quite a bit of money from his "ding-ding" hitman work—how could he not even buy himself a new set of clothes?
But although he wouldn't spend money on clothes, he didn't miss out on any free entertainment. Stingy as he was, he still held fast to the finer pleasures of life.
Case in point—he was now enjoying free paintings at the calligraphy and painting gallery.
Inside the gallery, folding screens divided the space into many small sections, each featuring different themes or artists.
Behind one particular screen, the foot traffic was visibly heavier.
Rong Chunsong was curious. "Go take a look over there too."
Hearing her voice, Shang Daoling let out a snicker. "Why bother? Squeezing through crowds and waiting in long lines? I'd rather appreciate these niche works."
Even as he said this, he made a show of lingering in front of the less popular sections for a while. Eventually, it seemed even he realized those obscure paintings were obscure for good reason. Finally, with the utmost casualness, he drifted over to the screen surrounded by the crowd of visitors.
It turned out this section was displaying the works of an artist under the pen name "Taozhai Shanren."
Or rather, it wasn't exactly a small section—it was the largest of all the exhibition areas.
On the walls, clouds of pink swirled—several long scrolls on the theme of peach blossoms.
Free-flowing and ethereal, naturally elegant.
This Taozhai Shanren had recently risen to fame. Whether at the painting stalls in the market or the galleries and seal-carving societies along the main street, printed copies of Taozhai Shanren's works were everywhere.
A married couple nearby was saying, "These peach blossom landscape paintings of Shanren's have been on display for quite a while now. Has there been no new work recently? We were hoping to buy a few new pieces to decorate our hall."
The gallery keeper replied, "Well… Taozhai Shanren hasn't sent anyone to deliver new paintings for the past few months. I sent a letter to inquire, and his family said he's been unwell and temporarily unable to paint."
At the keeper's answer, a wave of sighs rippled through the gallery, everyone expressing hopes that the artist would recover soon.
After leaving the gallery.
"Wouldn't have guessed you actually appreciate paintings."
"Chief, I'm a man of culture too."
A man of culture, really? From what she'd read in the book, when Shang Daoling was still mingling with the righteous sects in the early stages, he'd been looked down upon by certain young masters of noble families for his inability to compose poetry—though those fellows could never roll their eyes at him again afterward, because their eyes had been gouged out.
Considering his background, Rong Chunsong thought to himself that he probably really had no culture. But in this ancient cultivation world where compulsory education was not universal, it was not his fault that school-age children in remote mountain areas missed out on education.
His Culture attribute points were zero, yet he yearned for the elegant world.
What people lack, perhaps they all want to compensate for after achieving fame and success.
After all… in the original text, after he killed people and devoured their cores while simultaneously seizing some "cultured people's" knowledge reserves and abilities in music, chess, calligraphy, and painting, he really did show off his skills from time to time.
"Alright, so you're a man of sentiment too. You're following me now, and I guarantee you'll be steeped in art in the future—steeped in me. I'm also a Heavenly Venerable of sentiment, with vast learning."
Let me write him a blank check first. If he wants to learn, she can teach him when she has time. He'd better never think about refining those steeped people in the future, steaming and sun-drying them nine times to make Smoked Elixirs.
Shang Daoling: "…"
What kind of nonsense is this? Her steeping him?
His expression was very disdainful.
But the System's notification tone was very crisp.
[Ding. Target of conquest Shang Daoling's Favorability Value +1, current Favorability Value 9.]
The matter of having seen several peach blossom landscape paintings at the Calligraphy and Painting Bureau was tossed to the back of Shang Daoling's mind in an instant.
However, a few days later, when the middleman he regularly contacted brought him news of a new mission, a task with extremely high remuneration appeared.
A household had found out that he was the one who killed the Jiang family's Ogre, and wanted to hire him to perform Evil Expulsion for their daughter.
A copper coin was tossed high into the air, then fell again, landing steadily on the back of a slender hand wrapped in pitch-black gloves.
"With that kind of pay, just take it already."
Shang Daoling smiled at the void: "I normally only kill people, only seize treasures. Performing exorcisms and evil expulsions for others—wouldn't that ruin my reputation? This family is ridiculous too, thinking I'm some righteous person just because I killed the entire Jiang family."
Rong Chunsong said: "They're asking you to perform Evil Expulsion, so they must value your cultivation. Maybe they're out of options and want to find a fierce god to fight poison with poison."
A normal person being called a fierce god would probably be quite displeased.
But judging by this abnormal male lead's expression, he actually felt she was complimenting him.
The back of his hand, with faintly bulging veins, was wrapped in pitch-black gloves, and the copper coin landed squarely on the back of his hand. His other hand, which had been covering the coin, slowly moved away, revealing the answer.
The revealed copper coin was heads.
Shang Daoling's long eyes curved: "Forget it, who can resist money?"
"My young miss's real name is Qianshu. Has the Daoist priest ever heard of the young miss's painting name? The young miss is Taozhai Shanren." The old steward of the Li residence, leading the way, said.
"This Daoist saw her paintings for free at the city's Calligraphy and Painting Bureau a few days ago. They're not bad."
Hearing the words "for free" and "not bad," the steward's temple seemed to twitch.
One had to say, the old man still had some breeding—he acted as if he hadn't heard what he just said, and continued: "Since spring, alas, the young miss suddenly fell gravely ill and has been unconscious. All the doctors were helpless. Fortunately, the Censorate official had a colleague who cultivates, and he determined that the young miss has been struck by evil…"
At the corner, behind a whitewashed wall with pink and white plaster, red and pink blossoms blazed brilliantly, and through the courtyard wall one could see the bursting spring colors.
"That is the courtyard where the young miss resides."
"My lady is very protective of that peach tree. She won't even let the household gardener take care of it—she tends to it herself."
So that was why the painter called himself Taozhai Shanren—because he truly lived in a peach blossom studio.
If you ever happen upon a gorgeous peach blossom tree in the wilderness, you'd best be careful. Alluring things in the wild often feed on human flesh and bone.
But sizing up the blossoms atop the wall, Shang Daoling thought, This peach tree's cultivation is too low. It can't amount to anything.
Along the way, the steward chattered on about the Li family's circumstances.
Miss Li's mother was one of the Taijian of the Qingyi Terrace.
Though Gusu Terrace was teeming with established families, it was the only Immortal City among the major cities without a hereditary ruler. Instead, it was governed by an institution called the Qingyi Terrace. Within the Qingyi Terrace, the Taijian were responsible for deliberating legislation, supervising government offices at all levels, and handling affairs in their respective constituencies. Cultivators and mortals lived together in the city, and there was no shortage of mortal Taijian on the Qingyi Terrace either. This Taijian Li was one of them.
As for Miss Li's father, he was a great painter of far-reaching fame, once the director of the Gusu Terrace Painting Academy. His surname was Song.
A civil official Taijian and a refined painter—neither had any cultivation at all.
No wonder this family was willing to pay handsomely to hire that Rogue Cultivator who'd supposedly taken care of the Jiang family, Rong Chunsong thought. And now this kid's found himself another chance to make a killing.
In the main hall sat a gloomy-faced middle-aged woman, and beside her a man of similar age with a lean, spare frame—presumably Taijian Li and that Painter Song. Seeing their guests, the two rose to greet them, their words filled with worry for their daughter.
Shang Daoling thought, What a loving family. He hated happy families most of all.
But where there's money, there's business. He asked them a few simple questions, especially whether anything suspicious had occurred in their home recently.
Father Li said, "Could it be the peach tree? That peach tree—we transplanted it from elsewhere."
He continued, "Actually, Shuer's health has never been great. Last spring she had a minor illness. At that time, the peach tree in her courtyard also inexplicably showed signs of withering. But she recovered quickly last year, so we didn't think much of it. Little did we expect that after spring came this year—alas, she took to her bed and hasn't risen since, while the peach blossoms… eerily bloomed more and more profusely…"
Because their daughter's paintings mostly featured peach blossoms as their subject, he and his wife had never dared mention in front of her that they suspected the peach tree was strange.
"That peach tree does have a bit of spirituality, but it's only just reached the stage of Spiritual Awakening. It doesn't have that much power yet. Of course, if you're afraid it'll become a spirit or monster someday, you can chop it down now," Shang Daoling said with a smile. "Chop it down fifty or a hundred years early."
Rong Chunsong thought, This guy is really something—so snide. They told him the truth, and he still talks down to them.
But the two before him had their hearts set on their daughter and didn't take offense at his attitude. They asked, "Then in your opinion, Daoist Master…?"
"It's something else."
Shang Daoling said, "This thing's cultivation is mediocre. It's just very good at disguise." If its cultivation were sufficient, it would have swallowed that painter whole long ago—why would it bother dragging things out until now?
At dusk, the Li family hosted a banquet in Shang Daoling's honor.
Though the dishes were sumptuous, they could not mask the gloomy, oppressive atmosphere at the table. When Father Li heard it was a troublesome malevolent entity, his face grew drawn with worry. It was Taijian Li who mustered her spirits and raised her cup to toast Shang Daoling several times.
The serving maids filed in one after another, just about to present the final soup course, when the sound of hoofbeats suddenly came galloping up and stopped outside the main gate.
Immediately after, a clear female voice rang out: "Taijian, Second Brother, I heard Shu'er is ill, so I rushed back specially to see her." Before the words had even faded, a brisk figure had already strode swiftly into the hall.
The newcomer was dressed in simple clothes suited for movement, dark hair tied up simply, valiant and agile.
Father Li looked up in surprise: "Fourth Sister?"
The woman was the painter's youngest sister, Miss Li's aunt. Though called aunt, she was only a few years older than the twenty-year-old Miss Li.
This Song Siniang usually traveled abroad, only occasionally stopping at the Li household for a few days.
With his younger sister back to visit, Taijian told the serving maids to bring another set of bowls and chopsticks.
Song Siniang also greeted Shang Daoling, who was seated there, then took the hot tea handed to her by a maid and hurriedly took a sip, slightly relieving the thirst from rushing back night and day at full gallop.
As the sweet, clear tea went down, the young woman's brows furrowed slightly, as if she had discovered something discordant.
She looked at her elder brother, who had managed the inner household ever since resigning from office, and said: "Second Brother, are all the young serving maids in the household here?"
Father Li did not know why his sister asked this, and after a blank moment, said: "Yes, they're all here. Shu'er is ill, so I've assigned experienced old nurses to care for her courtyard. Since we're hosting the Daoist priest today, the other maids were reassigned to serve the dishes. Why do you suddenly ask about this?"
"You haven't hired any new servants recently either?"
"No. With Shu'er ill, who has the time to bother with that…"
But Song Siniang said: "What I mean is, there seem to be more serving maids here than before I left last time."
One more.
Those four airy words instantly made the atmosphere heavy.
A night breeze blew in from outside the courtyard, making the candlelight flicker slightly and casting wavering shadows across the seats.
Rong Chunsong thought to himself, Oh, it's the most classic "one of us is extra" horror trope.