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—The finishing touch is the hardest part. Lady Hsü racked her brains, for all along she had been lacking that final touch.

Lady Hsü dared not be reckless, but ultimately could not find the idea she most took to. Her mind in turmoil, she could only take to the streets to relieve her boredom. There, she so happened to hear a butcher calling out, and in the cage by the butcher's side, there was shut a plump fowlbeast.

For a long time, Lady Hsü stared at that fowl. Perhaps it knew its death was soon to come, and stupefied, the animal watched the pedestrians pass to and fro, making surprisingly little commotion.

Watching and watching, Lady Hsü couldn't help but begin to imagine herself as that fowlbeast, and deep inside, what it might be thinking.

All who came and went were other sorts, incomprehensible, and far from the grass and riverbanks, in this wilderness of a culture not its own, it was one and alone.

Fate was long since a foregone discussion, and it could now only seek a monumental release.

On nothing more than helplessness and apathy, such indescribable feelings—Lady Hsü found herself taking a few steps closer, and the fowlbeast, as if drawn in by that gaze of wild imagination, turned to Lady Hsü.

In that cosmic instant, there was no need for fierce method, sparse colors, and no need to worry how the noble purchasing a painting felt.

Success and failure, gain and loss. In the eyes of this livestock awaiting slaughter, Lady Hsü found an answer to all of them.

She paid the money to buy the fowl, kept it in the pond in her garden, and immediately took up her brush to add the finishing touches, the movements coming like a flow, no longer hindered at all.

On the second day, Lady Hsü finished with ease the court-lady painting, and received high praise from the officials and nobles.

Carrying great strings of gold and silver on the way home, Lady Hsü had all along felt that beyond the finishing touches, some little bit else was missing, and was frustrated as though she had failed.

Only when she opened her gate, and saw that fowl treading water in her pond, did she come to a sudden realization.

She'd thought she had achieved success, and had long escaped the chopping board, scarcely imagining that she had only changed the pond she was in, and lacked for freedom once again.

The present Lady Hsü had long advanced past the full-spirited, youthful girl she once was.

Over the decades she had taken up her brush, with fame and fortune both, yet her husband had passed in his prime; now she had to gaze over the looks of others. Who would still come to give her finishing touches, to let her free back into her fields?

What returned to the Hsü manor that evening was but carriages of gold and silver riches.

It is said that afterwards, some sighted Lady Hsü at the border of Jiangqi, but regardless, ever since then, the lady painter acclaimed as 'the place where magnificence dwells' was never seen again.

Twenty whole years later, among the powers of Hsi, the City of Dusk, there circulated a painting reputed to be Lady Hsü's final work—her swansong.

Most people thought it a fake. It was incomparable with the works of Lady Hsü in her younger years, and its content was incomprehensible. A great deal of the painting was left blank, depicting only a fowlbeast, its appearance as though dead.

Many evaluators believed that among similar paintings of beasts, quite a few great painters drew the beasts of flight and field, vivid and lifelike, remarkably animate, as though they could emerge from the scroll at any time.

But this fowlbeast was abnormally stiff, lacking all life, and therefore it was regarded as a fake.

Among Lady Hsü's admirers, there was one named Kuei-yü. He was wise with business when young, and had presently come on hard times, scattering his wealth away, hanging in the balance—his most frustrated moments.

Kuei-yü saw this scroll, saw the fowlbeast's eyes, and it was if lightning had struck him. He returned home half-dreaming, unable to settle for the longest time, and after more than ten days without proper sleep or food, he made up his mind, and gathered himself once again.

The world's affairs are inconstant.

Perhaps only those in frustration's throes like Kuei-yü could see clearly the implications Lady Hsü had hidden in the eyes of that fowlbeast pale as ashes, the longing without end, and the meaning of that 'beastly prisoner within the painting.'

Life. Life is no more than this.

You've gathered a lot of these anecdotes and apocrypha, sir. It really is an eye-opener.

That said, it seems most are legends about Yan painters?

Indeed. The library in my study is quite abundant, and doesn't lack in handwritten folklore nor tales of the strange, but there's no doubt that a majority of it relates to the outstanding painters in history.

Of course, there are also records of minor characters which, for all sorts of reasons, have been buried in anonymity within the history of Yan.

Though ultimately they were never able to stand out in prominence, they still have graceful glimpses of this world of ours, their writers unknown, neither if they're true or false.

Come to mention it... Miss Lava, your friend's person you're searching for is a painter as well, isn't she?

If she's a recognized name, perhaps with some small fame somewhere, then I may or may not be able to find some clues.

Uh-huh...

Look well, here is the exit of the village.

Ohh! Under this time of the sky, you'd be utterly blind if you didn't carry a lantern!

Master, dare I ask, have you ventured beyond the village before?

Ho? Did not you all come from outside?

Ahahah, I... I was quite drunk at the time, and when I came to, I found myself lying down already in the guesthouse with my companions.

I understand. To the west, there sits a Mount Hung-tung. Exit from here, walk some ri along the mountain path, and you will arrive!

However, strange demons roam Mount Hung-tung all year long. I would advise that one keep a healthy distance!

B—By demons, you mean those monsters, right? Might you know the true face of those things, dear Master?

I can only guess the smallest idea. I do not dare to bear false witness. I call those things as 'Ink Spirits.'

Ink? Ah, because they all fade away as puddles of sewage? Quite the snug analogy. Such is the prowess of a Great Master!

Thou flatter'st me. 'Tis only from my childhood, as my head priest would tell ghost stories of 'sprites and spirits,' which I remember deeply.

How modest, how modest.

The local people give the name 'Dusk Ridding' to the days when Ink Spirits invade, and pass all night in vigil, hiding under the shelter of the sun. 'Tis a far cry from the Yan 'Dusk-Ridding Eve' I have heard of...

Might it be that Yan is a country of vast lands, and the customs in every place are their own?

Not at all, not at all. I've never heard of any Dusk Ridding like this at the new year, and needless to say I've never met those Ink Spirits before.

In my journies, I have only met Ink Spirits some meager times. As it is here at P'o-shan Village...

Well! Then we can count ourselves sorely unlucky... arriving here to immediately see the Ink Spirits attack the village... It's fortunate it didn't last long, or else I might've been finished right here.

I had believed thou wouldst know all by thy finger-counting divination.

How would I? Even if I had that capability, it wouldn't—

—Hold on, the Ink Spirits you're talking about. Do they usually leave Mount Hung-tung? Could lone Ink Spirits happen to stray near?

When unoccupied I may stroll about the village, and I have never seen an Ink Spirit approach, save for last time. 'Twas truly a crowd to behold.

So you mean, if you see one, that means there's a whole gaggle?

I believe it is most likely so.

Th—Then we'd better be on our ways...

Ho? What does thou mean—ah.

Miss, miss!

Whoa, what's the matter?

My dada said you're a hero who helped the village, so you've gotta be really strong!

Hmm~ Are heroes all strong people, then?

Aren't they?

Heroes are just willing to help, that's all.

Amazing... ah, look, miss, here's the guesthouse I was talking about!

It's called the Tsui... Tsui-ch'ing Lou!

Tsui', 'Ch'ing', 'Lou.' Those are some real pretty Yan words. You can read 'em?

Yeah, I can!

Sweet, let's go in and see.

Wow, the guest room has even more light than inside my house!

Not too shabby at all.

Miss, are you gonna stay here? It's great!

(Furnishings... standard table and chairs... thing that look like words too. They're all clues. Gotta note 'em down...)

Uhh... hold on a minute...

Wah! I think I just heard—

—A bell.

M—Master, could we perhaps pick up the pace?

We cannot rush, we cannot rush! I must strike the full twelve!

But—eek—didn't something just fly past the eaves?!

Still short! The last three times!

I—I'll help!

Hoh... they came twice in one day. Why so frequent?

'In one day'... you mean 'in twenty-four hours,' right?

It really is a pain that daylight and nighttime don't ever switch. If you overslept, you'd end up losing track of time forever, wouldn't you...?

Hahaha, sleeping in is no good habit...

Though I must note how unruffled you are, Miss Lava. Presumably you did not cower when those monsters first appeared to you, either?

These things happen. And you seem pretty calm yourself.

See the sun strong above our heads. Those monsters would never make their way here.

Nobody'll get hurt, right?

If you're slow to escape, I fear they're unavoidable... If you do not lose your life, then you are already very lucky.

Mr. Umbrella-Boiler... I have a suggestion.

Go ahead.

We'll help P'o-shan Village pass the Dusk Ridding safely. Those monsters aren't strong, and we'll give it all we have to ensure the villagers' safety.

I want to wait until P'o-shan Village is safe, and then I'd like you to help us leave, Mr. Umbrella-Boiler.

Leave? Here? That of course is easily done, but... you've only just arrived, Miss. Are you truly willing to endanger yourself for us?

No problem. Those monsters only look scary. They're not actually that tough.

—Then let me first thank you, on behalf of all in P'o-shan Village.

M—My benefactors!