Chapter 100: The Terrifying Art Exhibition

In just a few days, the Art Festival would commence, hosting a competition that would crown this year’s rising star in the art world.

For an artist, what matters most?

Beyond genuine talent, it is fame.

Such competitions are undoubtedly one of the means by which artists make themselves known to others, making them immensely important.

The principal, at his age, had no intention of competing with young aspirants for the title of rising star. His goal was to nurture a promising young talent and help build their reputation.

The judges at the Art Festival were not only artists but also influential investors who had no real understanding of art. Their judgment hinged on one thing: reputation.

This was why, once the principal chose a candidate for the competition, he would assist in expanding that person’s influence. Only then could those superficial investors recognize and endorse the work.

No matter how excellent the paintings, what good would they do if these investors refused to acknowledge them?

There was still time to train another student to replace Fernanda’s position, but he had not anticipated Sver’s unexpected move at such a critical moment.

No one else had seen the so-called cursed painting, but the principal had witnessed it with his own eyes.

Not only had he seen it, but he had been so terrified by the painting that he fainted.

Though humiliating, he couldn’t deny that the painting contained something beyond his comprehension.

That something was bound to cause a sensation throughout the entire nation’s art community.

Setting everything else aside, the principal now firmly believed one thing: anyone who saw that painting would never easily forget it.

If the horror exhibition’s fame were to surpass that of Saint Mildred Academy...

He dared not even imagine the consequences.

Saint Mildred Academy was, after all, the nation’s foremost art institution. If the Art Festival were to be outshone by a mere small exhibition, his reputation would be utterly ruined!

So what could be done to prevent such a catastrophe?

“An old man once said, to defeat magic, one must use magic. In this case, only a cursed painting can defeat another cursed painting!”

“Principal, what do you mean?” the teacher asked, puzzled.

The principal’s eyes narrowed as he recalled that day’s events.

“Who... who are you? Why are you wearing our school uniform at our school?” The principal stared in shock at the Eastern-faced youth before him.

The boy merely shook his head slowly. “Who I am is unimportant. But don’t you think that painting is particularly important?”

“What painting?”

“The one that made you faint.”

At the mention of that, the principal quickly shook his head. “I never want to see that painting again. I don’t want to…”

Seeing the principal’s reaction, Wang Hui stifled a smile and began to explain, “It’s a cursed painting…”

After hearing Wang Hui’s explanation, the principal finally understood the situation.

For some reason, he felt Wang Hui’s words were incredibly convincing, almost like an undeniable truth.

“So... why are you telling me this? Do you want me to destroy such paintings when I see them?”

“No, no, no,” Wang Hui said, shaking his head emphatically three times.

“I want to tell you something else.” With a flick of his hand, a painting suddenly appeared in his palm. “There isn’t just one or two of these paintings—there are many.

Though these paintings can kill invisibly, they can also instantly transform someone into a genius. Do you understand what I mean?”

A fine sweat broke out across the principal’s forehead as he scarcely dared to breathe.

“What do you mean?”

“Heh heh heh.” Wang Hui smiled enigmatically and left behind a note. “This is my address. Come find me if you ever need anything.”

Then he turned and left.

In hindsight, the Eastern-faced youth must have known about the horror exhibition and was certain the principal would come looking for him.

“Sacrifice one’s life to become a genius?”

The principal whispered to himself, lowering his head, then his gaze sharpened. “Those who truly pursue art care little for their own lives. I believe my dear students would be willing!”

For him... no, for the reputation of Saint Mildred Academy, what harm was there if a single student sacrificed themselves?

Everyone must die someday—some deaths weigh as heavily as mountains, others as lightly as feathers. This kind of death must surely be among the former.

The student should be grateful, really.

With this thought, he returned to the school and chose his preferred candidate.

This person’s home must be far from here, have no influential background, and be exceedingly diligent.

Only such a person, upon sacrifice, would allow the principal to suppress the matter, just as he had with Fernanda, causing almost no repercussions.

In the end, he set his sights on a girl.

“Your name is… Locas, right?”

The girl summoned was the same one who had spoken briefly with Wang Hui the day before.

Locas nodded but looked puzzled. “I wonder why the principal has called me?”

The principal smiled kindly. “We have all noticed your hard work, both the teachers and I. So I want to ask if you would be interested in representing our school in the competition?”

Upon hearing this, Locas was stunned.

She hadn’t expected such an important opportunity to fall to her. Reflecting on all her efforts, she felt it had all been worthwhile.

At this moment, she no longer cared about anything else and nodded eagerly. “I’m willing. I’m willing.”

Seeing her willingness, the principal nodded in satisfaction. “Go home for now. I’ll find you later.”

After Locas left, a cold glint flashed in the principal’s eyes. Since she had agreed herself, he could no longer blame anyone else.

People always need an excuse before doing something they feel guilty about. Once you have an excuse, it doesn’t matter what that excuse is.

Then he took out the note Wang Hui had given him and frowned at the address written on it.

“What kind of place is this?”

He searched for quite some time before finding the location.

It was an extremely remote little cabin, its dilapidated exterior revealing its neglect.

He knocked on the door. “Hello? Is anyone there?”

No response came, but after a moment, the door opened on its own.

Peering inside from outside, the interior was shrouded in darkness, and an inexplicable odor wafted into his nostrils.

Something was off. Very off.

But now that he was here, he couldn’t turn back. After hesitating, he stepped inside.

The moment he entered, the surroundings suddenly filled with color.

But it was not a pleasant color; it was a deep, blood-red.

The entire cabin was engulfed in this crimson hue, and he finally understood the source of the strange smell—it was unmistakably the scent of blood!

“Wang Hui... Wang Hui, are you here?”

Mustering all his courage, he called into the cabin.

He had already decided that if Wang Hui did not appear, he would flee immediately.

But before any response came, he heard the sound of the wooden door closing behind him.

*Click.*