Cui Shao approached steadily, yet the man remained completely unaware, continuing to wield his brush, splashing ink on the painted wall; occasionally he would lift a wine jug for a sip, his posture utterly casual, contrasting sharply with the solemnity of the temple, yet no one came to interrupt.

Cui Shao fixed his gaze, only to see upon the painted wall, magnificent strokes of vivid colors, predominantly depicting fantastical scenes—most centered around a red-robed Divine Being, some wielding knives, others carrying swords, some walking through the world of humans, others treading upon the Ghostly Realm, and some battling demons—diversified yet all lifelike, full of divine charm.

"Sir, this is...?"

Startled, Cui Shao spoke up.

"Hmm?"

Only then did the scholar notice him, glimpsing with the corner of his eye before returning focus, "This is the Hundred Ghosts Painting."

"Hundred Ghosts Painting?"

Cui Shao murmured to himself and looked again at the painted wall, indeed finding it mostly filled with ghostly figures, blue-skinned with tusks and malevolent appearances.

The scholar multitasked, both painting the wall and conversing with him: "These are all Fierce Ghosts subdued by the Divine Monarch."

Saying this, he was indeed intrigued, unexpectedly pausing his brush and ink to enthusiastically introduce with a wine jug in hand.

"This is the Fox Immortal, claiming to be the Fox Immortal; it deceives ignorant country folk, conducting blood sacrifices, eventually forming a climate after decades, often entrenched in the wilderness, creating luxurious mansions, attracting scholars with the guise of wealthy maidens, consuming their flesh and blood, seizing their Primordial Qi, later detected by the Divine Monarch who slew them with a sword."

"This is the Painted Skin Ghost, capable of snatching human skins, loves transforming into beautiful women, roaming at night to entice men, consuming hearts, with a painted skin externally, changing appearance, human gods having difficulty detecting it, only when the Divine Monarch’s celestial sight illuminated, breaking illusions, could it be eradicated."

"This is the Five Pass Ghost, born from the spirit of lecherous men, crafted with Evil Dao techniques, feeding on women’s flesh and blood..."

"This is the Drowned Ghost that caused mischief in the Weishui River..."

"This is the Epidemic Ghost..."

"This is the Blade Worn Ghost..."

"This is the Three Aunt Ghost..."

"This is the Six Grandma Ghost..."

"This is the Strong Ghost..."

"This is the One-horned Ghost..."

The scholar expansively introduced them to Cui Shao—indeed, there were over a hundred types of ghosts, each with names and tales.

Cui Shao listened and was equally astonished: "So many ghosts?"

"Ha!"

The scholar laughed: "The more people, the more ghosts!"

"Sir, you are insightful."

Cui Shao nodded, agreeing deeply, then shifted his gaze to the painted wall on the west side: "What kind of ghost is that?"

"That’s the Hell Map."

The scholar smiled: "It’s the prison ruled by the Divine Monarch."

"Hell?"

Cui Shao frowned: "Isn’t that under the Buddhist Sect’s jurisdiction?"

"Buddhist Sect?"

"Ha!"

The scholar coldly laughed, showing disdain, saying no more.

Seeing his expression, Cui Shao felt it inappropriate to speak further, only pondering inwardly.

Hell—a concept from Buddhist Technique, temples often depicted "transformative hell" images, using hellish punishments to warn people, urging them to turn towards good and away from evil to avoid falling into hell.

Yet Cui Shao knew, after years of development, the Three Religions mutually influenced each other, and the Yin Hell is no longer exclusive to the Buddhist Sect, with each sect and divine being having their own hell to oversee posthumous authority, vying for the faith of the living.

After all, present officials are valued over past ones; if you can’t guarantee my posthumous fate, why should I believe in you as a Divine Being?

Thus, Cui Shao deduced this Hell Map represented Judge Song competing for faith against the Buddhist Sect.

And this middle-aged scholar, painting in the temple, must be a Divine Judge follower, perhaps even a disciple deputy, so showing disdain for the Buddhist Sect is understandable.

This is fortunate too; their fierce rivalry allows His Majesty to drive tigers into fighting wolves, reaping benefits like a fisherman.

Cui Shao nodded inwardly, looking again at the painted wall, suddenly feeling familiarity, turned to ask the scholar, "Did you paint all these?"

"Of course."

The scholar took a sip of wine, then glanced at him sideways: "Why, do you understand?"

"A little, a little!"

Cui Shao smiled, observing the painted wall again: "This handiwork..."

Mid-sentence, suddenly trembling with shock, he looked at the middle-aged man: "Are you Mr. Dreamer?"

"Hahaha!"

The scholar laughed; his posture was casual: "You know me too?"

"Who doesn’t know your name, sir?"

Cui Shao bent in salute: "Student greets the teacher."

Dreamer Scholar Zhu Xiaolian!

He is renowned, if not worldwide, at least influential in Jiangnan’s literary circles, achieving first in the Jinyang Prefecture exam at merely sixteen, earning the Scholar and Prefecture Champion titles, later abandoning officialdom for poetry and painting, becoming a great master—especially skilled in painting, famed for his miraculous brushwork transcending techniques, adept at portraying Daoist and Buddhist themes, divine and ghostly figures, people, landscapes, fauna, flora, architecture—highly esteemed by scholars, fervently pursued by aristocrats.

Cui Shao, although from the north, had seen his paintings several times, thus now had an impression.

Such great talent, residing in a temple, not vying for fame, nor serving aristocracy, only wielding a brush on this wall?

Could a Sixth Grade True God be so enticing?

It indeed seemed possible; rumors even in the Jinling Prefecture mentioned that the god’s position, albeit a Sixth-Grade Punishment Magistrate, held great power and deep-rooted faith—centered around Little Yellow Mountain, Qinghe County, and Anping County—the millions of people from these three regions devoutly believed, recognizing him as the God of All Things, embodying Fu Kui, Lu Kui, Shou Kui, Xi Kui, Pan Kui, Zi Kui, Sister Kui, Wen Kui, Martial Hero, Wealth Leader, wielding authority over land, mountains, rivers, literature, military, good, evil, and prisons.

Such a deity, capturing the heart of a painting prodigy, is only natural.

Cui Shao’s heart was alert, but his face remained expressionless.

Zhu Xiaolian seemed indifferent: "You know my name, so we must be destined; how about buying a painting?"