Chapter Ninety-Nine: The Cursed Painting

Everyone turned to look in Wang Hui's direction.

Wang Hui held the painting in his hands, his expression dark as he stared at the crowd.

“What's wrong with this painting?” someone asked him.

At the question, Wang Hui’s face grew exceptionally grim. He then presented the painting to everyone.

It was an incredibly eerie piece.

In the painting, a young boy crouched in a corner, his expression impossible to read—neither numb nor despairing, just vacant as he sat there.

Behind the boy was an iron cage, its surface clawed by countless hands. Peering inside the cage revealed numerous terrifying faces, all grotesquely glaring at the boy.

The painting seemed to possess a strange power—once you looked at it, it was difficult to tear your eyes away; you found yourself unable to stop staring.

But after a while, the painting’s atmosphere shifted.

At first, they thought the boy was outside the cage, but upon closer inspection, it seemed he was inside. Then they’d look again, and it appeared he was outside once more.

The hands on the cage seemed less like they were gripping it and more like they were reaching outward. The faces inside the cage grew clearer and more menacing.

The entire painting exuded an overwhelmingly dark aura, each glance feeling like an invisible hand was tightening around your neck, suffocating you.

Yet Wang Hui appeared immune. After securing the painting, he spoke to the still-shaken students below.

“Actually, I came to this school because of this painting. It’s a cursed piece. Whoever possesses it will become an artistic prodigy in a very short time.

“But everything comes at a price.”

He then looked toward the direction of Fernanda’s corpse.

“And this,” he said grimly, “is the price.”

For a moment, every face turned pale.

A painting could kill a person?

This was simply unfathomable!

Wang Hui then pulled out a lighter and burned the painting, warning the others:

“There are far more paintings like this. If you see any, you must destroy them immediately, or the consequences will be disastrous!”

No one dared to contradict him.

Wang Hui’s explanation was well-reasoned, and there was no reason to doubt him. One by one, the students believed his words wholeheartedly.

Now they finally understood how Fernanda, such an unremarkable student, had suddenly become a prodigy—it was because of this painting.

If they could possess such a painting too, wouldn’t they become even more formidable than Fernanda?

But just as the thought crossed their minds, cold sweat broke out on their brows.

What good was genius?

It was only a hollow reputation. Life itself was what truly mattered.

Thus, the matter seemed to come to a close… or so they thought.

Since the principal had been promoting Fernanda to the outside world, her death would inevitably draw attention.

How would he explain it?

Would he say Fernanda became a prodigy because of a cursed painting?

And that she died because of that curse?

If so, his own reputation would be utterly ruined, not to mention the school’s.

No, that could never be said.

So, at an art exchange conference, the principal gave a speech about Fernanda’s death.

“Fernanda was our school’s most outstanding prodigy. Sadly, talent is often envied by fate, and she left us forever. I am deeply heartbroken,” he said, feigning tears as he addressed the audience. “Now, let her teacher speak.”

At that moment, the teacher, who had been waiting in the audience, stood up. After gathering his emotions, he took the stage.

“The class Fernanda was in was the most exceptional I have ever taught, and Fernanda was the brightest among them…”

Both men broke down in tears, pouring genuine emotion into their words without any pretense.

But just as they expressed their grief, an unsettling voice rang out from the crowd.

“As far as I know, Fernanda’s death was caused by a painting, right?”

At the question, both the teacher and principal tensed instantly.

They had sealed the news within the school—how did this person know?

They looked toward the source of the voice and saw a man dressed in strange black clothes, stroking a neatly trimmed mustache as he stared at them.

His garb made him look like a giant black crow—eerily strange and unsettling.

Judging by his attire alone, the two men knew exactly who he was.

“What do you mean by that? Can you be clearer?” the principal feigned ignorance.

“Hmph,” the man in the strange clothes sneered. “I’ve heard all about your school—so-called 'number one prodigy.' It’s nothing but a talent born from a curse!”

He then turned to the crowd.

“Fernanda was a complete fraud. She was never a true prodigy. Her genius was all thanks to a cursed painting—one that contains real horror.”

He exaggerated a grin.

“And right now, that very painting is on display at my horror art exhibition. Interested?”

The hall erupted with skeptical murmurs.

This man was named Sverre, a leading figure in the horror art genre.

He was renowned in the horror community and hosted the world’s largest horror art exhibition, featuring only the most terrifying works.

There were even rumors that his exhibition concealed ten legendary paintings deemed too horrifying to view.

Anyone obsessed with such things was, needless to say, somewhat unhinged.

But these were only surface impressions. Those who had spent time with him knew the truth:

This man truly had a screw loose.

Thus, no one believed a word he said, which explained the teacher and principal’s calm demeanor.

Used to doubt, Sverre chuckled awkwardly and turned away.

“Believe it or not, I will display that painting at tomorrow’s midnight horror exhibition.

“This is a once-in-a-lifetime chance to see a masterpiece like no other. Miss it, and it’s gone for good.”

With that, he left, leaving the crowd exchanging uneasy glances.

As one of the country’s few master artists, no one could deny their curiosity about Sverre’s claims—but they also found them absurd.

Would they be mocked if they went?

Yet, what if the painting really was there?

Those who could capture such a profound artistic conception clearly had a natural affinity for art.

In the end, curiosity overcame all, and they decided to attend the horror exhibition that very night.

The teacher and principal exchanged a glance, both sensing unease in the other’s eyes.

In truth, they had believed much of Sverre’s words when he spoke—after all, he wouldn’t boast without cause.

But this raised another pressing issue: the upcoming painting competition.