Chapter 53: The Cursed Painting

After leaving the apothecary with the herbs carefully packed in her bag, Feng Yan strolled leisurely down the bustling street. Her mind wandered between the ingredients she had just purchased and the brief but intense encounter with the mysterious man in the apothecary. His commanding presence still lingered in her thoughts, but she pushed it aside, focusing on the day ahead.

As she walked, something unusual caught her attention. Among the numerous shops lining the street, one stood out—a small, run-down antique shop. Unlike the other lively storefronts, this one exuded an eerie, oppressive energy. Its sign was old and faded, and the once-glorious exterior now looked dilapidated. But what truly captured Feng Yan's attention was the aura surrounding it. Black and red qi swirled faintly around the entrance, a sure sign that something within carried a malevolent force. Any seasoned cultivator would recognize this sinister energy, and Feng Yan, with her heightened sensitivity to spiritual forces, couldn't ignore it.

Her curiosity piqued, Feng Yan decided to investigate. She stepped inside the shop, the bells on the door jingling softly as she entered. The air inside was thick, heavy with the unmistakable presence of yin energy. The dim lighting cast long shadows across the room, and the shelves were cluttered with ancient trinkets, scrolls, and forgotten relics. It looked like a place that had once thrived but was now fading into obscurity, much like its aura.

As she wandered through the shop, her instincts guided her toward one particular object. Nestled in the far corner, hidden among other antiques, was an old painting. Feng Yan's breath caught as she neared it. The painting was drenched in black qi, radiating an intense bloodlust. The evil aura it emitted was suffocating, and the yin energy surrounding it was so strong that even a non-cultivator would feel its oppressive nature. It wasn't just a painting—it was a cursed object, and its presence was draining the life force from the entire shop.

Before Feng Yan could inspect the painting further, the shop's manager approached her. He was a middle-aged man, though his appearance suggested he was much older. His skin was pale, his eyes sunken and hollow, and his movements slow and lethargic. He looked drained, as though the very essence of life had been siphoned from him. Even though Feng Yan could sense his physical decline, he greeted her with a faint smile, trying to maintain some semblance of hospitality.

"Hello, young miss," the manager said, his voice hoarse and tired. "What brings you here today? Looking for something in particular?"

Feng Yan studied him for a moment. His sallow complexion and the lifelessness in his eyes confirmed her suspicions—he was being affected by the extreme yin energy in the shop, most likely emanating from the cursed painting. The once-flourishing antique store was now a shadow of its former self, and Feng Yan could see why. The evil aura from the painting was not only corrupting the shop but also the people within it.

She glanced back at the painting, then at the manager. There was no doubt in her mind that the man's poor health was linked to this cursed object, but she didn't want to alarm him.

"Are you feeling cold lately?" Feng Yan asked calmly, her voice gentle but firm. "Have you experienced symptoms like insomnia, extreme fatigue, or headaches?"

The man looked at her, surprised. His weary eyes widened slightly, and for the first time, a spark of life appeared in them. "Yes... yes, how did you know?" he asked, his tone a mixture of curiosity and wariness. "I've been feeling... off for a while now. Cold all the time, no matter what I do. And I haven't been able to sleep well for weeks."

Feng Yan nodded, her suspicions confirmed. She glanced at the herbs she had bought from the apothecary, and the shopkeeper's gaze followed. He seemed to piece things together quickly, assuming she had some knowledge of medicine, despite her young age.

"You're not well," Feng Yan said, choosing her words carefully. "Your energy flow is disrupted. It's weakening your yang energy, which is why you feel cold and fatigued. You should take some time to rest, and it would help if you spent more time outside in the sunlight. You need to balance the yin energy you're absorbing."

The manager blinked at her, still processing her words. "But how... how do you know all this?"

Feng Yan offered him a faint smile. "I study energy flows. It's easy to see when someone's is out of balance. The symptoms you're experiencing align with a disruption in yang energy."

The man seemed to consider her words, nodding slowly. "I... I do stay here most of the time. It's been a while since I spent much time outside. The shop is always cold, and I thought it was just the old building."

Feng Yan bit her lip, debating whether or not to tell him about the painting. It was clear that the cursed object was the root of his illness, but she wasn't sure how to explain it without alarming him. Most ordinary people wouldn't believe in cursed relics or malevolent qi. It would be difficult to explain that his life force was being drained by an evil aura he couldn't even see.

As Feng Yan considered her next words, she noticed a subtle change in the air. The temperature in the room seemed to drop slightly, and a new presence entered the shop. Feng Yan's instincts flared, and she felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. Someone else had walked in.

Before she could turn around to see who it was, she heard a voice. A voice she had heard before.

Deep, manly, and smooth as silk, the voice cut through the stillness of the shop like a blade. "Excuse me," it said, addressing the manager.

Feng Yan's heart skipped a beat. She knew that voice—it was the same voice she had heard the day before at the apothecary. Her pulse quickened, and she resisted the urge to turn around immediately. Instead, she kept her eyes on the manager, watching his reaction to the newcomer.

The commanding presence she had felt in the apothecary now filled the antique shop, and Feng Yan could feel the weight of it pressing down on her. The same magnetic, overwhelming energy radiated from the man, even though she hadn't yet laid eyes on him.

Without looking, Feng Yan knew who it was.

The man from the apothecary had found her again.