Daishan Turns The Wind Chapter 1

The Painter’s Case (I)

Hongmao City, early May. The sun beat down fiercely.

Feng Yuluo set down the firewood, waved to Old Li to indicate he was fine, and quietly moved closer to the crowd.

It was the front courtyard of a wealthy family named Wang. It was surrounded by yamen runners and constables, as well as the estate’s maids and servants. Lying in front of them was a soaking wet person, eyes tightly shut, face pale, with a small red mole on the tip of her nose.

Her clothes were luxurious; she was Second Madam Wang. She had been found dead in the pond that morning. The man of the second branch was covering his face and weeping nearby.

The Eldest Master Wang looked to be in his forties, his face ashen, his eyes cloudy. He muttered, “Vengeful spirits demand lives, fierce ghosts snatch substitutes!”

A yamen runner wiped sweat from his brow, hesitating. The coroner, an old woman, finished the examination and stated that the cause of death was drowning, with no other injuries on the body. However, on the right shoulder, there was a black palm print, the size of an infant’s right hand.

They quickly had it traced, then picked it up and compared it to several sheets of paper. A few people showed expressions of fear and helplessness, as if saying, “It’s the same again.”

Feng Yuluo secretly hid behind the crowd and saw that all the sheets of paper bore the same small black handprint of a child.

The cause of death was indeed drowning, but for an infant to press such a handprint, it would require immense strength. Where would a swaddled baby get such force?

They heard the estate steward say, “Masters, Second Master, the Infant Immortal demands lives. There is nothing we can do. We should quickly change the Second Madam’s clothes and place her in the coffin, then invite a master to perform rites so she may pass peacefully.”

The Eldest Master Wang suddenly realized, “Yes, yes, quickly invite a master, and buy a coffin. Everything must be the best.”

The steward immediately called people to handle the tasks.

Since the Infant Immortal was demanding lives, and mortals could not interfere, everyone dispersed.

Feng Yuluo was dressed like a servant boy in coarse cloth clothes. He followed the crowd out of the estate, and no one noticed the addition of a stranger.

He overheard people saying that six people had died consecutively in Hongmao City within two months. The cause of death was always drowning, and all had a small palm print of an infant’s right hand on their right shoulder.

It was as if an infant had been clinging to their back before death, pushing them into the water.

The rumors spread, claiming that the drowned infant had turned into a malevolent ghost, demanding lives to reincarnate. Many people, fearing their lives would be taken, respectfully referred to it as the Infant Immortal.

Some even claimed to have seen it: the infant was dripping wet, with sparse hair and two black, rolling eyes. It would cling to a person’s ear, making “yiya yiya” sounds with its red mouth.

The rumors became terrifying, so the yamen arrested and beat those spreading them. People no longer dared to speak nonsense, only whispering secretly.

Feng Yuluo thought he should investigate. If it was a harmful demon or monster, he had to capture it.

Today, hearing that something had happened at the Wang Estate, he came here with Old Li to sell firewood. He saw the black handprint and found it quite chilling, as he had never encountered such a monster before.

He planned to secretly climb over the wall tonight to see if he could find any clues.

Old Li waited for him outside and anxiously said, “Aren’t you afraid?”

Feng Yuluo thought, what is there to fear? He had already died once. He picked up the basket of fruit he had asked someone to watch and walked toward the main street with Old Li.

The two had met three months ago. Feng Yuluo had collapsed from hunger on the roadside and was rescued by Old Li, a woodcutter. Otherwise, he might have been the fourth Daoist who failed his tribulation and starved to death.

He was the Patriarch of Feng Mountain, no less. It was his first tribulation in eight hundred years, and look how the lightning had struck him: dizzy, weak-legged, and numb-handed. Even more tragically, Yuanbao, the little demon who had endured the heavenly lightning with him, had run off.

He had searched for a long time. He heard Yuanbao came to Hongmao City, but there were no leads yet.

Furthermore, he had died during the tribulation, and he didn’t know how Feng Mountain was doing. Were his disciples crying themselves silly? And there was the most rebellious one, Shan Wuzhou… The thought made him sigh.

Once on the street, he and Old Li shouted to sell their fruit, but Feng Yuluo was somewhat distracted. Old Li thought he was tired or scared, so he simply shooed him to the wall to cool off and sold the wild plums himself.

Old Li was over fifty. In his eyes, Old Feng was just a young, handsome kid, though perhaps a little slow-witted. Look at him squatting by the wall—how foolish.

A servant boy led a dozen monks past, heading straight for the Wang Estate to perform rites for the Second Madam.

Feng Yuluo’s gaze followed them closely. At the entrance, a young woman darted out of the crowd, carrying a stick. She followed the monks, her eyes red and filled with fury, and charged inside.

He immediately stood up and ran over.

Before he reached the entrance, the young woman was pushed out. She gritted her teeth and cursed, not looking at anyone, and charged back in, swinging her stick wildly.

“You scoundrels, bring Wang Er out! Make him explain himself!”

The servants who were hit cursed back.

The young woman fought her way inside. Just as the long-staffed guards came out, one was about to strike her head. Feng Yuluo quickly pulled her aside.

With a turn of his foot, he dodged the guard and lightly flew into the estate from the corner.

Everyone’s eyes blurred; the person was gone.

Seeing that she was inside, the young woman quickly ran toward the back courtyard, running and asking in confusion, “Who are you? How could you… just walk in like that?”

Feng Yuluo tripped the people chasing them, saying, “A kind-hearted citizen. Miss, do you know the Second Madam?”

Tears welled up in the young woman’s eyes as she dodged a person lunging from the left. “She is my friend, Yan Xin. My name is Zhao Zisheng.”

Feng Yuluo shouted, “Just call me Old Feng.”

They rushed to the back courtyard, followed by a throng of shouting pursuers who crowded behind them.

Zhao Zisheng struck Second Master Wang’s left shoulder with her stick. “Where is Yan Xin? You must explain to me, how exactly did my sister die?”

Second Master Wang cried out in pain. “She’s inside. The constables came, and the coroner said drowning. But in reality, it was the Infant Immortal demanding her life.”

Zhao Zisheng chased him, hitting him. “My sister has been in your house for half a year—colds, coughs, constantly falling ill. Now she’s drowned! Is your house a pit of fire? What Infant Immortal? You have so many people here, why did the Infant Immortal only demand my sister’s life?”

Second Master Wang fled miserably. “Your sister was weak and easily attracted evil spirits. She was targeted by the Infant Immortal.”

Feng Yuluo watched the situation, repelling the servants and guards who tried to intervene, allowing Zhao Zisheng to vent. But Zhao Zisheng froze, suddenly stopping, tears streaming down her face.

She said nothing and headed straight for the inner room.

She used to visit often, but when she reached the gauze curtain, she didn’t dare to step forward.

Feng Yuluo was surrounded and attacked outside. The Eldest Master Wang came out, panting, and demanded to know who he was.

After the commotion, Feng Yuluo already knew there were internal conflicts in this family. Second Madam Yan Xin had been married for half a year, suffering continuous misfortune, and now she was dead—it was impossible not to be suspicious.

Looking up, a faint black aura shrouded the area. Feng Yuluo frowned and simply admitted, “I am a Daoist, here to capture the Infant Immortal.”

He deliberately looked at the Eldest Master, the First Madam, the Second Master, and the crowd in the courtyard. Their expressions varied: disbelief, disdain, curiosity, and… disgust?

Someone muttered, “You’re wearing rags and claiming to be a Daoist. Just say you want food.”

Second Master Wang directly cursed, “Get lost! What kind of Daoist nonsense! How can a vulgar person like you capture the Infant Immortal? If you try to catch it, are you trying to harm everyone in our family?”

“?”

Feng Yuluo then realized that the Infant Immortal was rumored to be terrifying. If monks or Daoists were invited to capture it, the Infant Immortal would retaliate against the family, dragging everyone into the water.

Second Master Wang ordered people to push him out. While Feng Yuluo struggled in exasperation, he saw Zhao Zisheng emerge, looking utterly distraught.

Standing in the sunlight, her face was smeared with tears and sweat. After a moment of daze, she suddenly rushed forward again and slapped Second Master Wang hard!

“You killed her! If it weren’t for you, she wouldn’t have suffered so much. It’s all you, you murderer!”

Second Master Wang seemed enraged. He raised his hand to strike but was kicked to the ground by Zhao Zisheng. He roared, “It was the Infant Immortal demanding her life! How many times do I have to tell you?”

Zhao Zisheng, who had just seen her friend’s corpse, broke down. “Where is the Infant Immortal? Did you see it? Call it out and let me see!”

Second Master Wang was somewhat fearful, trembling. “You are disrespectful to the Infant Immortal. Be careful, it might come for you tonight!”

“Let it come! I am not done with you over this! I will let everyone in the city know your Wang family’s true colors! You coveted my sister’s dowry, mistreated her, and you drove her to her death!”

Second Master Wang’s face flushed red. The Eldest Master Wang couldn’t watch anymore and coughed. “Guards, throw them both out.”

Feng Yuluo was speechless. There seemed to be a lot of hidden details in this matter. He sighed helplessly, seeing that no immediate result would come from this commotion. He wanted to tell Zhao Zisheng to go home first, planning to return tonight to investigate.

Second Master Wang, however, sneered viciously, “You don’t believe in the Infant Immortal? Then ask this Daoist to catch it! See if the Infant Immortal doesn’t kill you!”

Zhao Zisheng shuddered, stunned. Feng Yuluo pulled her away, secretly flicking his finger at a tree. A discarded bird’s nest, complete with feathers and droppings, fell and splattered on Second Master Wang’s face.

Ghostly wails erupted behind them.

All the way to Old Li on the street, Zhao Zisheng was still in a daze. Her emotions had fluctuated wildly, likely damaging her heart meridian. Feng Yuluo prepared a bowl of sweet water for her to drink, waiting for her to recover.

Old Li asked what happened. Feng Yuluo briefly explained the situation. Old Li sighed, finding it difficult to comprehend the secrets of noble households.

Zhao Zisheng’s eyes were unfocused. After staring blankly for a long time, she slowly said thank you, turned, and walked away.

Feng Yuluo felt pity for her, thinking it was better for her to go home. He would tell her after he captured the Infant Immortal.

The street suddenly became chaotic. A group of people from the Wang Estate rushed over, carrying two bundles of firewood on their shoulders. They threw them down forcefully in front of Feng Yuluo and began to curse. “Claiming to be a Daoist! You’re just a wretched firewood seller! Take it back! Whoever uses your firewood will have bad luck! You’re a jinx!”

Old Li looked at the firewood scattered on the ground and grew anxious, squatting to pick it up. “I cut this wood on the mountain early this morning. How is it bad luck?”

Bystanders gathered to watch the spectacle.

Feng Yuluo pulled Old Li up. “Forget it, we’ll take it back and use it ourselves.”

Old Li looked embarrassed. He fumbled in his pocket and pulled out ten copper coins to return to them. But the people wouldn’t take it. They scattered the coins on the ground and cursed, “Who wants money touched by a fake Daoist? It’s just as unlucky.”

Feng Yuluo clenched his fist, suppressing his anger. “Don’t go too far!”

Those people suddenly sneered softly. “You’ve offended the Infant Immortal. You better run quickly.”

Feng Yuluo grabbed the collar of the person in front, looked into his eyes, and said coldly, “The Infant Immortal wouldn’t dare come for me. I live in a thatched hut in the bamboo grove ten miles outside the city. If it has the guts, tell it to come.”

The person in front shivered but fiercely grabbed Feng Yuluo’s collar in return. “You will surely die!”

Just as Feng Yuluo was about to ask what kind of death, a hand lightly but forcefully pushed the person away. Another arm wrapped across Feng Yuluo’s chest, embracing him. A silver wrist-blade was tucked into the wrist.

It looked incredibly familiar!

A broad, thick chest pressed against his back—soft, and hot, vibrating with a heavy thumping. Was that heavy breathing in his ear?

Feng Yuluo stiffly turned his head. In that moment, he, too, was thumping wildly. My goodness, he nearly had his soul scattered!

The man’s hair was tied up high, meticulous. His face was slightly tanned, his eyebrows like ink strokes, radiating youthful vigor. The corner of his mouth drooped slightly, as if deliberately suppressing emotion, but his eyes were wide with intense grief and anger.

He fiercely gripped Feng Yuluo’s collar, gritting his teeth. “Patriarch!”

It was Shan Wuzhou! The newest and most rebellious disciple of Feng Mountain! The one with the strongest talent and highest cultivation, the kind who could already defy his master and ancestors! He had tracked him down!

You, you, you, you, you… Feng Yuluo’s teeth chattered. His eyes widened, and the instant panic and helplessness transformed into astonishment and praise. “Little brother, you look so handsome.”

Shan Wuzhou’s hands were bulging with veins, but he was confused by the compliment and slightly loosened his grip.

Old Li grabbed a piece of firewood, ready to strike. Feng Yuluo quickly said he was fine.

Shan Wuzhou recovered, quickly letting go for fear of hurting the Patriarch, but then held his hand to restrain him, turning to examine him closely, filled with disbelief and excitement.

The Patriarch had always been thin, like a broomstick in a sack, liable to be blown away by the wind. The reason was simple: the Patriarch was a picky eater and didn’t sleep well. He always had dark circles under his eyes. Even when someone cooked special meals for him, he wouldn’t gain weight.

Later, when the disciples also became picky eaters, he grew anxious. He took the disciples to steal chickens and dogs and supervised their meals. Finally, a group of them plumped up. Although the Patriarch was still a bit thin, his cheeks were fuller, and his chin was rounder.

His eyebrows were fine and spirited, his eyes bright, his lashes sparse but long, like wide-open city gates that couldn’t hide any emotion; his thoughts flowed and turned a hundred times.

His hair was usually carelessly coiled and pinned up with any random twig, ready to go out and cause trouble, utterly carefree.

Now, this face carried a hint of exhaustion, his eyelids drooped, making his expression hard to read. His lips were chapped, clearly having suffered from wind and sun for several days. His neck and face were two different colors, as were his hands and arms.

But the way he rolled up his trousers, his casual posture, and that inherently mischievous expression were exactly the same as the original Patriarch.

This was Feng Yuluo! He wasn’t dreaming!