I followed Isabelle Frost, drifting towards the lakeshore. At that moment, the elderly man revealed a strange expression.
"Miss Isabelle, who is this?"
I've always harbored hostility towards the Ghost Painting Book Immortal. He used Martin Ouyang to complete the Thousand Ghost Record, which became the precursor to that terrifying storybook.
"Blackfang, this is the true Ghost Painting Book Immortal—a refined ghost living beyond the mortal world."
"Is this friend's name Blackfang? My apologies, my apologies—it's your first time here, isn't it?"
I felt a bit puzzled, but then the Ghost Painting Book Immortal respectfully invited Isabelle Frost and me inside.
"What I love most is listening to people tell ghost stories, and ghosts talk about human affairs, haha."
I was somewhat confused. Could the one I saw, who claimed to be the Ghost Painting Book Immortal, have been a fake?
"Well then, Miss Isabelle, what kind of story have you brought this time?"
Isabelle Frost nodded with a mischievous smile. Then, the Ghost Painting Book Immortal rose, brewed tea for us, and brought out some beans for us to enjoy.
Isabelle Frost began to speak, telling the story of the Outcast Village. However, it was not quite as we had experienced it. Isabelle skillfully glossed over the matters of Jules and Martin Ouyang, leaving out the details, and instead focused on the village I had created and the people in the Outcast Village who fought desperately against the ghosts—a story centered on them.
The whole process lasted several hours, with the Ghost Painting Book Immortal constantly jotting down every detail of the story with his pen.
"Truly, this world is full of wonders. This young brother Blackfang is the leader of Blackfang in the story, isn't he?"
I nodded. At that moment, the Ghost Painting Book Immortal walked to the bookshelf, took out a book, and handed it over. The title read 'The Crying Drum'—a rather peculiar name.
"Tonight's story is quite good. Here, take a book, Miss Isabelle."
With that, the Ghost Painting Book Immortal handed the book to Isabelle Frost. She accepted it and thanked him, after which he smiled and even patted Isabelle's head. I was stunned—Isabelle was surprisingly docile, smiling warmly as if being patted by her own grandfather.
With a sudden sputter, I sprayed out the tea I had just drunk, jolted awake by the shock. Instinctively, I stood up—the impact was simply too overwhelming.
"Oh, young brother Blackfang, it's not your fault you don't know. Miss Isabelle and I have known each other since she was just eleven. Back then, I loved telling her stories, and she couldn't sleep without hearing one every night."
I responded with an 'Oh,' but then realized that the Ghost Painting Book Immortal existed even before Isabelle Frost and the others—a truly formidable being.
Yet, I couldn't shake my doubts about the Ghost Painting Book Immortal. I decided to bring up the matter of the Thousand Ghost Record—and Ray Lin.
"Ah, that's how it is. Sigh, young brother Blackfang, you may not know this, but I had only one disciple in my life—Chu Nan. He was the one who created the so-called Thousand Ghost Record. Supposedly, if you collect a thousand ghost stories, you gain immense power, but it's all just a ruse."
I let out a sound of surprise. The Ghost Painting Book Immortal continued, explaining that long ago, he had a disciple who followed him as a page. Their relationship had always been good, but the Ghost Painting Book Immortal never let him read his books, strictly forbidding Chu Nan from opening any of his master's works.
But Chu Nan could never suppress his curiosity. He secretly opened one of the books, and as a result, all the ghostly energy in his body was instantly drained. When the Ghost Painting Book Immortal returned, Chu Nan was already on the verge of death.
"But sir, why do your books absorb ghostly energy?"
"Because, as a ghost, anything I create consumes a tremendous amount of effort and spirit. Only powerful ghosts are able to read these works."
I responded with another 'Oh.' It was as if he hadn't explained anything at all, and it seemed the Ghost Painting Book Immortal had no intention of elaborating.
Afterwards, Chu Nan began to change. He secretly started imitating the Ghost Painting Book Immortal, writing things of his own. The works he created were placed in ordinary people's homes, and anyone who read them would gradually have their life force drained, which then became Chu Nan's power.
But Chu Nan misunderstood—the Ghost Painting Book Immortal wrote his books to make himself stronger.
When the Ghost Painting Book Immortal discovered this, he found that Chu Nan had already devoured the souls of thousands, completely fallen and transformed into an evil ghost. In a fit of rage, their master-disciple relationship was shattered.
At that time, Chu Nan arrogantly believed he had surpassed his master, but the Ghost Painting Book Immortal defeated him swiftly and expelled him from the sect. Out of sentiment for their past, he spared Chu Nan's life. Chu Nan left, taking with him a book called the Thousand Ghost Record.
This was a book that Chu Nan had written at the time. Its contents described a place with a certain custom: to ease the suffering of the dead, the villagers would take turns each year, during the ghost festival, to tell ghost stories.
Every year, they would tell some stories, and the locals would record the names. According to tradition, once a thousand ghost stories were told, a great cycle would occur, allowing the dead who could not reincarnate to finally move on.
But this story was never finished by the Ghost Painting Book Immortal—he only wrote the beginning, briefly explaining that gathering a thousand ghost stories would lead to something, but left it incomplete.
Chu Nan mistakenly believed that collecting a thousand ghost stories would grant him something. And indeed, under Ouyang Meng's power, the horror story was born.
After finishing his story, the Ghost Painting Book Immortal took a sip of tea. I looked at him and sighed.
"Sir, I have a proposal I'd like to ask your opinion on."
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I spoke respectfully, and the Ghost Painting Book Immortal smiled.
"Xiao Yi, since you brought someone here, it means this person is looking for me for something, right?"
"I would like to invite you to join our organization—Blackfang."
I stated my purpose directly. As expected, the Ghost Painting Book Immortal shook his head.
"I'm accustomed to this carefree life—listening to ghosts who come here seeking my stories, exchanging their ghost tales for the books I write. That's all there is. Please, you may leave now."
I was still pondering how I could convince the Ghost Painting Book Immortal. If I could get his help, what I had created would seem even more authentic to the Immortality Society. Arriving here, I could sense his strength; this old man appeared kind, but...
"Sir, do you know where your disciple is now?"
The Ghost Painting Book Immortal shook his head.
"Then, he's used your name to do many things that have damaged your reputation. You..."
"It doesn't matter, young brother Fang. Such things mean little to me."
I then suggested whether he would like to observe my story closely and write it into his book, but the Ghost Painting Book Immortal simply smiled.
"As for your story, if you wish to tell it to me, you will. If not, I don't care to follow you around and record everything—it's far too tedious."
I grew anxious. This time, I had come with great confidence, hoping to persuade the Ghost Painting Book Immortal to join us, but now, it seemed I had failed.
"Oh, by the way, sir, do you really enjoy those strange and unusual stories?"
I asked.
"Naturally. I've heard all sorts of strange and unusual stories in this world, and I enjoy them greatly."
"Then, sir, if I tell you three strange and unusual stories, would you be willing to join us?"
As soon as I finished speaking, interest appeared on the Ghost Painting Book Immortal's face.
"Go ahead, I'm listening."
I pondered for a moment, then began to tell him about three people I'd encountered: one who stared at a book with no words, one who searched for a destination he didn't know, and one who used immense power to strike a pillar of light that would never fall, insisting he could succeed.
As soon as I finished, joy appeared on the Ghost Painting Book Immortal's face.
"Indeed, these three people are very strange. As you said, young brother Fang, this story is odd—seemingly ordinary, yet I can't help but wonder why these three do what they do."
I waited for the Ghost Painting Book Immortal's answer, but at that moment, he shook his head.
"These three people's stories are strange, but not as bizarre as those I know. Please leave, young brother Fang."
At that moment, Isabelle Frost giggled beside me, then covered her mouth and looked at the Ghost Painting Book Immortal.
"Book Immortal, how about I tell you a story? If you're satisfied, join Blackfang."
I looked at Isabelle Frost gratefully, but she told me to wait outside. I went to the woods across the lake, leaned against a tree, and waited quietly.
I've heard countless stories about the Ghost Painting Book Immortal. In the ghostly world, he's a peculiar figure, never taking sides, always alone.
After a long while, I saw Isabelle Frost drift over to me. She raised her hand and made an OK gesture. I stared at her in surprise, not knowing how she convinced the Ghost Painting Book Immortal. Then Isabelle tore off one of my ghost threads and gave it to him. We agreed that once we found the base, he would come.
"I still need a seasoned driver."
I muttered, and Isabelle Frost looked at me.
"Is it Ray Lin?"
I replied with a hum. Right now, what I most wanted to know was Ray Lin's whereabouts. To me, he was also indispensable. If I wanted to overthrow the Immortality Society, I had to gather all these formidable people.