Chapter Seventeen: Ambush

With her faceless visage, Huamei looked at Wang Yuanhong and spoke, “Thank you, young master. I will never forget your kindness in taking me in. Those two people were spies sent by the Hundred Flowers Sect to the marquis’s household, so I had to kill them.”

Wang Yuanhong was not surprised—it was just as he suspected. Although the matter was now certain, her actions were understandable. She had cared for him throughout their journey together. Yet, the living and the dead were destined to remain apart. This was an immutable truth. Besides, he still did not know what she truly was, so he said, “Though I know your actions were not without cause, the living and the dead walk different paths. You have died, and you should go where you belong. The mortal world has no place for you anymore.”

Huamei rose and bowed to Wang Yuanhong. “Thank you for your shelter, young master. I will take my leave now.” She turned to walk toward the door. Wang Yuanhong sensed a profound sorrow from her—he could not claim indifference. Even a cat or a dog would inspire affection after a few days of companionship, let alone a person. He wanted to say something, but recalling Huamei’s current state, he swallowed his words.

“Brother, are you there?” Wang Yuanfeng called out from atop the garden wall.

He had been perched there for quite some time, sensing something odd but finding no flaw. He decided to keep watch outside the door—sooner or later, she would have to come out. Using his spiritual sense, he eavesdropped and unexpectedly heard a remarkable story. Though Huamei was a corpse demon, she harbored no malicious intent—just a woman who had suffered greatly, her appearance marred, her face painted with a mask of cosmetics.

Observing her skill with makeup, Wang Yuanfeng could not help but admire her artistry—it rivaled the best he had seen in his previous life. Her cultivation was on par with his own, not lacking at all. Judging by his elder brother’s demeanor, it was clear he did not dislike her. Since the household could easily support a few idle people, he decided to intervene. If Huamei left, she would find nowhere safe to go and would likely encounter mortal danger. He resolved to keep her for now, knowing his brother would regret it if she left, for he was a man of deep feeling.

Inside the room, Wang Yuanhong and Huamei were startled and flustered. The voice clearly came from the wall—Wang Yuanhong knew it was his fourth brother climbing over again. He turned to Huamei and said, “Hide yourself.”

The two searched the room in vain for a place to conceal her. Wang Yuanhong said, “Just put on your makeup—return to how you appeared before.”

Huamei replied, “Very well, but could you please fetch me a mirror?”

Wang Yuanhong agreed and rummaged through the room, but there was no mirror to be found. There was one in another chamber, but not here. Meanwhile, he kept his ears trained on the courtyard—his fourth brother seemed to have jumped down from the wall. Growing anxious, Wang Yuanhong whispered to Huamei, “I can’t find a mirror. What now?”

Huamei, equally anxious, was not afraid for herself, but worried about how things would unfold outside—who was out there, would her secret be revealed, would Wang Yuanhong be implicated? She looked around and suddenly noticed a gleaming sword hanging on the wall—it was Wang Yuanhong’s own weapon, one she had seen before.

Chiding herself for her wild thoughts, inspiration suddenly struck. She darted to the wall, took down the sword, and drew it from its scabbard. Her painted face was reflected clearly in the polished blade. Tossing the sword to Wang Yuanhong, she said, “Hold this for me, I’ll use it as a mirror.”

Wang Yuanhong was startled by her sudden movement, but on hearing her explanation, he saw his own reflection clearly in the blade. He sat in a chair, holding the sword while Huamei seated herself opposite.

With a “mirror” at hand, she quickly sketched the outline of her face—rouge, lips, eyes, nose—her brushes dipped in various powders, moving swiftly over her features. When it came to her eyebrows, however, she hesitated, unable to proceed. Wang Yuanhong grew anxious—his fourth brother would reach the door at any moment, and only the brows were left undone. He said urgently, “Let me do your eyebrows.”

Huamei hesitated a moment, then handed him a brush.

Wang Yuanhong took it, gave her the sword, and, using the painting techniques he knew by heart, carefully outlined her brows.

The door creaked open. Wang Yuanfeng entered to find the room in disarray, and at its center, a striking woman holding a sword before her, while a broad-shouldered man leaned over, brush in hand, drawing her eyebrows.

Wang Yuanfeng immediately covered his eyes. “Brother, have I stumbled upon something I shouldn’t have seen?”

At that moment, Wang Yuanhong finished the final stroke. Satisfied with his work, he handed the brush back to Huamei and, blushing, turned away. “Fourth brother, what brings you here?”

Wang Yuanfeng grinned, “If I hadn’t come, how would I have witnessed such a touching scene? Who would have thought my elder brother could be so gentle?”

“Heh.” Wang Yuanhong forced a laugh, then gestured to the alluring woman beside him, who still held the sword. “This is Miss Huamei.” He then turned to Huamei. “This is my fourth brother, Wang Yuanfeng.”

Wang Yuanfeng examined her closely. Though he could tell she was a corpse demon wearing an enchanted skin, her bone structure was excellent, and with her makeup complete, she appeared seamless—her skin alive and flawless. If she hadn’t revealed the truth herself, and if she didn’t use her powers, he would never have known. She must have devoted great effort to this enchanted disguise. As Wang Yuanfeng observed her, Huamei addressed him, “I am Huamei. Greetings, Fourth Master.”

Wang Yuanfeng composed himself and replied, “Ah, Miss Huamei, well met. I am Wang Yuanfeng.” He gestured toward his elder brother, “I am his fourth brother.”

Wang Yuanhong, his embarrassment fading, regained his composure and asked, “What brings you here tonight, Fourth Brother?”

Wang Yuanfeng considered his answer. He could hardly say he had come to see Huamei for some demon-slaying—her circumstances were too complex. After a moment, he remembered that he needed to refine an external elixir for their sixth brother, Wang Yuanqing, tonight. Though it was only a re-refinement, he intended to improve its quality, which would create a conspicuous phenomenon. Anyone in Shengjing with cultivation would likely notice. Though this was the marquis’s household, there were always those reckless enough to risk danger for treasure. Their father was away, and only the brothers were at home; the guards could not stand against real cultivators. It would be best to have guardians— the more, the better.

Naturally, Xiaocui would help him, and though he had no fear, he worried about her stubbornness—she would fight to the death if anyone threatened him. Now that he knew Huamei was also a cultivator—albeit a corpse demon—her abilities were similar to his own. As she was on her second cultivation, her skills were likely impressive. So he said, “Brother, I came to ask for help.”

Wang Yuanhong replied at once, “Whatever you need, if I can do it, I will.”

Wang Yuanfeng explained, “Tonight I will be refining something. When I do, any cultivators in Shengjing unafraid of the marquis’s power will come. I want to station some helpers in ambush around me.”