chapter 1

The seventh night of my captivity in Zhaoling Temple.

Knock, knock, knock…

The sound of someone at the door shattered the silence of the mountain temple. Someone had come.

I opened the door to a howling mountain blizzard. In the vast darkness stood a monk in white. He was breathtakingly handsome, perfectly proportioned, tall as a stately jade tree. His skin was fairer than the snow, a crimson dot of cinnabar marked the space between his brows, and black prayer beads circled one hand. He looked like an aloof Buddha carved from white jade.

“Master, may I ask what brings you here?” I could not shake the feeling that I had seen him before.

Snickers rustled behind me.

“It’s a monk.” The headless ghost sat on the wall, legs crossed, giggling. The long-tongued ghost drooled. “He smells delicious… I’m starving. Where should I start?” The skeleton ghost clattered, “What a pretty monk. So pretty. Let me have his skin once we peel it off.”

Countless pairs of green eyes rolled through the air, crying impatiently, “Let him in! Hurry…”

Unaware of anything amiss, the white-robed monk pressed his palms together. His lowered gaze met mine, tranquil as water.

“Benefactress, this humble monk was passing through when the snowstorm struck. Might I trouble you for shelter tonight?”

Even his soft, subdued voice felt strangely familiar.

“May I ask your name, Master?”

“This humble monk is Zhenguan, a disciple of Dajue Temple.” His carmine lips barely moved.

I stared at those lips, something quivering inside me.

Then I remembered. In the imperial capital, a woman painter had once fallen madly in love with a monk from Dajue Temple. He had rejected her with uncompromising coldness. Driven into obsession, she painted him more than a thousand times, held a wedding ceremony with one of his portraits, then embraced it and burned herself alive. Only one painting survived the flames, and it became a peerless masterpiece.

I had seen it in my imperial brother’s library. The man in the painting was elegant as an orchid and luminous as the moon among clouds. The portrait seemed capable of stealing one’s soul. As though possessed, I had pressed my lips to its cold surface, tracing the monk’s serene phoenix eyes and straight nose before settling on his lips. In a daze, I thought I heard a quiet sigh—and felt something soft and damp beneath my mouth.

The painted man and the monk before me slowly became one.

“Zhenguan…” I lowered my eyes and murmured the name, rolling it over my tongue with the ease of one who had spoken it ten thousand times.

After seeing that painting, I had seemed bewitched. A raging fever gripped me, and I babbled deliriously, weeping and demanding to find “Zhenguan.” I remembered nothing of what happened in between. When I finally woke, a string of golden bells had been tied around my ankle. My imperial brother said a monk from Dajue Temple had performed a rite to drive out the evil influence, and the bells would keep me safe. Once I recovered, I forgot both the man in the painting and his name completely.

Until tonight, when the painted man appeared again.

“Let him in…” the hundred ghosts urged impatiently.

I leaned against the doorway, unable to decide.

Others had been lured here on the preceding nights. Without exception, they were dragged into the painted walls, their limbs snapping and blood spraying. Their mangled corpses became new portraits of terror upon those walls…

Could this white-robed monk exorcise evil? He was so young that his cultivation could not be very advanced. He was alone, while a hundred ghosts haunted the temple. There was little hope for him. Better to send him away.

“Master Zhenguan, those prayer beads of yours look so familiar…” I smiled at him, reached out, and grasped his wrist. My fingertip flew across his palm, tracing the words, There are ghosts.

I had written only half the last word when, with a crash, the brilliant vermilion doors flew wide beneath the force of the storm. Countless dim lights flared behind me. In an instant, the ruined temple became a magnificent palace, and tangled vines and weeds transformed into exotic trees heavy with fragrant blossoms.

“Zhizhi, is that any way to treat a guest?” A silver-haired crone emerged from behind me. After shooting me a glare, she smiled and invited him inside. “Please forgive my girl, Master. The storm is fierce. Do come in at once.”

All I could do was signal frantically with my eyes and shake my head.

To my dismay, he understood none of it. He smiled faintly and inclined his head, his voice as pale as mist.

“Forgive the intrusion.”

His white robes swept inside along with the snow.

Now that he had entered the lair of ghosts, there was no turning back.

The silver-haired crone gave a sinister chuckle. With an excuse, she soon withdrew and melted into the dark once more.