Chapter 67: The Mountains and Rivers Brush (Part 7)

Yun Xueqing then remembered that they were still wearing their disguises.

He removed the disguise technique, and San Zhi, who had turned himself into a cube, also restored his original slender figure.

But this change did not draw excessive attention from the people around them. Some just occasionally cast astonished glances their way.

Yun Xueqing divided his attention to survey the surroundings.

On this main street, the people were completely different from those in Ugly Town. The pedestrians were all tall, thin, and fair-skinned beauties, a pleasing sight to the eye.

Their faces were attractive, but upon closer inspection, there were no flaws at all, like smooth, blank white paper. The proportions of their features were almost identical, as if copied and pasted, eerily uniform.

Yun Xueqing lowered his eyes and did not mention it to the other two. Such an obvious clue—Fu Mi and San Zhi were both smart enough to notice. Meaningful smiles played on their faces.

“New people have arrived in town. Great to have newcomers—the more people, the better… I wonder how this batch looks.”

“These folks are pretty good-looking. They’re just not quite up to standard yet. No worries, once Red Sister gives them a makeover, they’ll fit right in.”

The townsfolk whispered among themselves without lowering their voices, not caring if Yun Xueqing and the others heard.

Or perhaps they said it loudly on purpose. Meaningful smiles adorned their faces as they eyed the trio like pigs ready for slaughter—nothing good about their intentions.

The bustling street suddenly fell silent at the sound of gongs and drums.

From the crowd emerged a young, beautiful woman in mourning garb, draped in hemp and wearing white. She beat a copper gong as she approached from the opposite side.

Wherever she passed, people instinctively gave way, like ants scattering from an incoming tide.

The once-crowded street emptied out in moments, turning eerily quiet.

Most avoided her, unwilling to face her. A few too close to escape showed traces of fear on their faces.

Her appearance lent the atmosphere a strange tension.

She kept beating the gong but occasionally paused to point at someone. Whoever she pointed at showed utter despair and terror, legs buckling as they collapsed to the ground.

Yun Xueqing watched her closely as she gradually approached them.

The three did not know what she did, but her mourning attire spelled ill omen. Being selected might mean something horrific—or a terrible fate.

What one feared most came fastest. The gong-beating woman in mourning clothes headed straight for them, pointing at each in turn.

The remaining onlookers breathed sighs of relief. “I counted earlier. With these three outsiders, the number should be enough. We’re off the hook.”

As he spoke, sure enough, the woman in mourning clothes put away her gong and turned back.

The townsfolk wore expressions of relief, but the few selected looked as if the sky had fallen, faces etched with despair.

Yun Xueqing approached one of those picked by the woman to ask what it meant, but they knelt on the ground, dazed and soulless, ignoring him entirely.

Unfazed, Yun Xueqing—having escaped danger—overheard the chatter. He approached someone lingering on the street. “New to your town. Could you tell us the local rules?”

The man glanced at his face and attire, spotting an outsider who had been selected. Guessing the question, he smirked like he was enjoying a show. “Outsider, no wonder you know nothing.”

He tilted his head, as if granting a rare mercy, and explained reluctantly. “I’ll tell you this—you’re in big trouble. Who knows if you’ll come back alive.”

With his thin, almost gaunt finger, he pointed at the departing woman in mourning clothes. “That’s the Mourning Envoy.”

Fu Mi chimed in. “What’s a Mourning Envoy?”

“The Mourning Envoy is the Mourning Envoy,” he snapped impatiently, unwilling to elaborate. “Whenever she shows up, it means someone in town has died.”

Her mourning attire made it obvious—related to funerals.

Anything tied to death carried an ominous air.

The three realized this. Yun Xueqing pressed, “So why did she point at us?”

“To send off the dead and keep vigil, naturally,” the man said with a strange grin. “I don’t know the details, but few who get picked ever return alive.”

Fu Mi blinked with innocent eyes, his tone gentle. “Can’t we run? Or just not go?”

The man’s face darkened, twisting into a grimace. He shook his head vigorously. “That’s breaking the rules—disrupting town unity. Refusing means harsh punishment from the Mourning Envoy.”

He did not specify the punishment, but it surely ended in death.

From him, the three gleaned the basics. Further details yielded nothing.

Perhaps because their looks ranked high in Beauty Town, securing a room at the inn proved easy. They still drew odd stares but no outright refusal.

Seeing how striking the three were, the front desk clerk could not resist advising, “With looks like yours, hurry and get your faces painted by Red Matchmaker.”

Yun Xueqing puzzled. “Red Matchmaker?”

The matchmaker type?

San Zhi glanced at his expression and scoffed. “Idiot. It’s that Red Sister the crowd mentioned.”

The front desk nodded. “That’s her.”

Yun Xueqing thought of the uniform faces on the street. “Does everyone in town go to her for face painting?”

The front desk nodded. “Exactly.”

San Zhi grinned. “What happens if we don’t?”

The front desk bristled at his casual tone. “Go or don’t. Skip the painting, and you’ll pay more taxes later.”

Yun Xueqing: “Taxes?”

Seeing him as the most refined-looking, the front desk warmed to him, her irritation fading. She offered extra advice. “Every resident of Beauty Town pays taxes to the Town Mayor, but amounts vary.”

Yun Xueqing had a hunch. “What’s the standard?”

The front desk’s face soured. “By looks.”

Fu Mi nearly laughed. “Taxes by looks?”

Absurd.

The front desk gave a wry smile. “The Town Mayor says our town is Beauty Town, so everyone must be beautiful. We aim to have the world’s finest cityscape.”

Yun Xueqing recalled the face-painting suggestion. “The better you look, the less tax?”

The front desk shook her head. “No—it’s by the Town Mayor’s tastes. Pale, petite, slim; high nose bridges, pointed chins. Deviate, and taxes skyrocket.”

Fearing misunderstanding, she gestured with her hands. Seeing their blank looks, she gritted her teeth. “Damn, I can’t draw… Basically, like most folks here.”

He recalled those copied-pasted faces—beautiful, yet lifeless like pressed dry flowers, pretty on the surface but devoid of vitality.

Yun Xueqing eyed the front desk, who gazed at him dreamily. He spoke warmly. “Taxes paid in money?”

She glanced at him and sighed. “Taxes are due soon… You’ll see.”

At the thought, worry clouded her face. Her gaze landed on Yun Xueqing’s shoulder, and it stiffened. “You… were picked by the Mourning Envoy?”

A small white flower was pinned there—given only to those selected.

Her face fell further. “Finally, a handsome guy in town, and he’s off to die soon. My luck sucks.”

With her face like a mourner, Yun Xueqing smiled and asked about the selection. Her account matched the man’s.

Those picked by the Mourning Envoy were fetched the next day by the deceased’s family to a site for vigil and funeral rites.

Knowing danger loomed tomorrow, the three stayed calm, retiring to their rooms to rest and prepare.

The town was small; the inn basic but clean. At first glance, it resembled Ugly Town’s—down to the framed picture by the bed.

Seeing the graceful silhouette of the woman in the frame, Yun Xueqing smiled. “Followed us all the way? Relentless. Still want to kill me?”

They had forgotten his sacrificial constitution—minor spirits could not resist devouring him.

As he stared, the woman in the frame suddenly turned, revealing a skinned, bloody mess of a face. Even so, her resentment and malice seeped through.

Yun Xueqing’s tone stayed even. “Good night.”

He slipped under the covers.

The female ghost, powerless against him: “…”

Dawn had just broken when Yun Xueqing awoke naturally. A knock sounded at the door, timed perfectly with his rising—as if deliberate.

At this hour, Fu Mi and San Zhi would not visit. Wearing the inn’s disposable slippers, he approached and caught an unpleasant scent.

Like rainy days without an umbrella on a highway, splashed by filthy puddle water mixed with exhaust fumes.

Yun Xueqing did not open rashly. He glanced at the door.

He sensed whatever was outside watching him.

He drew the Calamity Blade from his storage space, gripping it in one hand and the doorknob in the other. He slowly opened the door.

As it creaked open, the view revealed—blank white walls across the hall.

Unexpectedly, whatever had been there was gone. Nothing remained but a red envelope on the floor.

Yun Xueqing picked it up.

An ordinary red envelope, laced with eerie ominousness.

Urban legends warned: Do not pick up roadside red envelopes. The money inside might be from the dead—buying your life with theirs.

Yun Xueqing did not fear “life-for-life” curses; they were not simple to enact.

Besides, the Shared Fate Curse bound him and San Zhi—who died was uncertain.

Unworried by curses, he casually opened it.

No money inside—a white paper with an address.

Yun Xueqing recalled the mourning-clad woman; this must be the destination.

Footsteps hurried down the hall. Fu Mi and San Zhi arrived, each holding a red envelope—same as his.

San Zhi seemed helpless. “Forcing us to keep vigil for some unknown dead guy. Wonder if he can handle it.”

A cold, venomous glint crossed his face—he clearly resented free labor and planned retaliation.

Fu Mi eyed the address with a smile. “404 Street, Building 44, 4th Floor, Unit 4. All those fours—not auspicious.”

San Zhi waved dismissively. “Divine our fortunes for this trip.”

If easy, he would torment them thoroughly.

Vigil duty? He might devour them instead.

Fu Mi obliged, bending his fingers to calculate.

But his easy expression faded. His smiling eyes widened, coldness flashing.

San Zhi noted it. “Major ill omen?”

Was the foe’s Weird that strong?

Fu Mi met his gaze and shook his head. “Can’t divine it.”

San Zhi chuckled. “Even you have blind spots?”

Fu Mi’s cherubic face showed rare distress. “Yeah. Worse than a major ill omen.”

San Zhi nodded. “Tricky opponent. Even the great Fu Mi can’t gauge its strength.”

His tone this time was flat, but because he was accustomed to that neither yin nor yang demeanor on ordinary days, it came across as mockery in their ears.

A trace of disdain appeared on Fu Mi’s innocent and harmless doll-like face. “It’s not a problem with the opponent. The problem lies with us ourselves.”

San Zhi was baffled. “What?”

The problem lay with themselves?

Seeing that it still hadn’t understood, the disdain on Fu Mi’s face grew even stronger. Yun Xueqing, who stood nearby, spoke up. “Your Spirit Energy has been weakened?”