Chapter 113: The Portrait of the Beauty on the Wall

Three days later, Fengyang Martial Arts Hall.

Following a heavy downpour, the temperature plummeted, and a biting chill took hold. For martial artists like Fang Yue, however, the winter cold posed little concern. At this moment, dressed in the simple blue uniform of the hall, Fang Yue was practicing his strikes on the martial platform in the courtyard.

This set of techniques, known as the Longfeng Fist, was one of the more renowned styles taught at the Fengyang Martial Arts Hall. Beside Fang Yue stood Bai Taoru, meticulously instructing him on the essence of the form.

Thanks to his immense wealth and magnetic personal charm, Fang Yue had managed to win over everyone at the Fengyang Martial Arts Hall in a mere three days. In the mornings, Bai Taoru served as his private tutor for martial arts. In the afternoons, Qiu Shiyan took the lead to teach him swordsmanship. At night, he would retreat to his room to "level up" through his system.

Although Fang Yue’s primary goal was to acquire an innate internal energy cultivation method, he knew this could not be rushed and had to be approached gradually. Every innate cultivation technique was the prized treasure of a sect or hall and would never be passed on easily.

...

At lunchtime, everyone ate together. Including Fang Yue, there were only ten people left in the Fengyang Martial Arts Hall. Qiu Rubai had lost his mind, while Qiu Shiyan and Bai Taoru, the two women, did not dine with the coarse men. The remaining seven had no trouble sharing a table.

"Why is the food so bland today?"

"Indeed, it’s remarkably tasteless. Fatty Niu, did you forget to add salt?"

Niu Chuming was one of the few remaining disciples of the Fengyang Martial Arts Hall. In the hall's heyday, there had been hundreds of disciples. Niu Chuming had originally been an apprentice in the kitchen, responsible for assisting with the meals for those hundreds. Sensing that martial artists were quite prestigious, he had muddled his way into becoming a disciple himself. Later, when Qiu Rubai went mad and the hall declined, the hundreds of disciples scattered, and the head chef naturally left as well. Niu Chuming, however, stayed behind and had been in charge of the kitchen ever since.

Hearing the complaints, Niu Chuming snapped out of his reverie. He quickly tasted a bite, slapped his forehead, and said, "Oh, look at my memory! I forgot the salt. Let me put it back on the fire." He picked up two plates and hurried into the kitchen.

"Do you guys think Fatty Niu has been acting strange lately? He’s always giggling to himself."

"I’ve noticed it too. He’s constantly distracted; look, he even forgot the salt while cooking today."

"With that silly look on his face, do you think he’s courting some girl?"

"Heh, with his looks? No girl would ever be interested in him. He doesn't have the spare money to visit the Pleasure Pavilion either. It’s probably just a one-sided crush."

The men at the table chattered away, with only Fang Yue and the old steward, Bai Fu, remaining silent.

When Niu Chuming returned from the kitchen with the plates, Bai Fu suddenly spoke up: "Chuming, I heard from Zhang the butcher on the street that you’ve been buying pig blood from him frequently. How come we never see it on the dining table?"

Niu Chuming looked flustered. "I’m raising a small puppy and bought it to feed him. I only buy a little at a time. I used my own private money, not the hall's grocery fund."

Hearing that Niu Chuming used his own silver, Bai Fu stopped questioning him.

...

A cold winter night.

Outside, the wind howled. Niu Chuming carried a small white bowl back to his room. The vast Fengyang Martial Arts Hall was mostly empty now, so every remaining person had their own room and did not need to sleep in a communal dormitory.

"Ping'er," Niu Chuming whispered as he closed the door.

"Brother Niu, you’re back," a delicate woman’s voice drifted from the room. The voice was like an oriole, enough to make one’s bones melt.

A simple, honest smile spread across Niu Chuming’s chubby face. Holding an oil lamp in one hand and the small bowl in the other, he approached the woman. By the dim light of the lamp, one could see she was quite beautiful: hair like a waterfall, skin like jade, brows like wisps of smoke, and almond eyes filled with liquid light. Her teeth were pearly white, and her smile illuminated the room.

"Ping'er, I’ve brought you something good."

Niu Chuming placed the bowl before her. It was filled with a thick, bright red liquid. Ping'er’s face lit up with desire. "Brother Niu, give it to me quickly."

Niu Chuming set the lamp on a wooden table, walked over to the wall, and held the bowl to her lips, feeding her the thick, raw pig blood. As she finished it, a trace of blood remained at the corner of her mouth. Her beautiful eyes shimmered with satisfaction, and her face held a sense of fulfillment. In the dim light, it was filled with a seductive, lingering charm—and, at the same time, an overwhelming sense of absurdity and horror.

For this "Ping'er" was not a real human; she was merely a woman's head growing out of the wall. Aside from her head and neck, she had no body.

Yet, Niu Chuming felt no fear. Instead, he gazed at her with infatuation. He set the bowl aside, took a towel, and carefully wiped the blood from her lips. Ping'er blushed and whispered, "Brother Niu, you are so good to me."

Niu Chuming smiled honestly. "You call me Brother Niu; if I’m not good to you, who would I be good to?"

Ping'er hummed softly. "Brother Niu, are you tired from your day?"

"Not at all," he replied. He sat by the wall and began to ramble on about the trivial matters that had occurred during the day. Ping'er’s autumn-water eyes watched him quietly, her expression focused as she listened, chiming in occasionally without a hint of impatience.

Hours passed until the middle of the night, when Niu Chuming finally grew tired and stopped.

"Ping'er, I ramble on so much every day—do you ever get annoyed with me?" Niu Chuming suddenly asked.

"Not at all. I love it when you talk to me. I stay in this room alone every day and feel so stifled. Having you here makes me so happy."

Ping'er looked as though she wanted to hear more, clearly enjoying his presence. Niu Chuming felt a surge of joy. "Ping'er, you’re the best. No one else outside cares to talk to me, only you. If only..."

Niu Chuming didn't finish his sentence. He wanted to say, "If only you weren't just a head, but had a complete body, how wonderful that would be." But then he thought: if she really had a body and could move freely, why would she ever pay attention to a poor, fat, and ugly guy like him?

Niu Chuming fell silent, and the room grew quiet. Outside, the wind was bitter, but inside, there was warmth. Niu Chuming didn't even want to sleep, didn't want the sun to rise. Because when it did, Ping'er would vanish, leaving nothing on the wall but mottled stone.

Sensing his low spirits, Ping'er said understandingly, "Brother Niu, let me sing a little tune to cheer you up."

She began to hum in a soft, melodic voice:

"Purple bamboo blooms in the seventh month,
Little sister goes out to pick flowers with joy.
Holding a purple bamboo basket, wearing a purple bamboo shirt,
A beautiful purple bamboo flower worn on the chest.
Picking hill after hill, like a colorful butterfly among the blossoms,
Picking hill after hill, like a colorful butterfly among the blossoms."

Her voice was like an oriole’s—clear, sweet, and coquettish, as if she were flirting, enough to send shivers down one's spine. Niu Chuming felt his face flush; he had certain thoughts, but feeling he was desecrating her, he quickly suppressed them.

As she hummed, Niu Chuming remembered the first time he had seen the woman's head appear on the wall in his room. He had been terrified, but for some reason, he had never told anyone. Since then, she had become the light in his life—an indispensable part of his existence. She was the only one who would listen, the only one who would never grow impatient. To the rest of the world, he was just "Fatty Niu," but to her, he was "Brother Niu."

He had heard rumors of ghosts and monsters, and he knew that Ping'er, with only a head, was likely one of them. Sometimes he wondered if she would hurt him. But more often than not, he thought: *Let her hurt me. Without her, what is the point of this miserable life?*

She was the only one who would never look down on him.