Volume One, Chapter 22: Portrait of the Goddess

This time, she still failed to catch that sinister energy.

However, she heard voices coming from the next room.

The door beside hers hadn’t been fully closed, and coupled with Su Tong’s keen senses, the conversation inside drifted clearly to her ears.

“Mr. Wang, there’s something wrong with the ‘Divine Maiden’ painting. It can’t be auctioned tomorrow.”

The voice was distinctive—steady, with a hint of rasp. It belonged to Ye Mo.

Mr. Wang sounded puzzled. “All the paperwork for ‘Divine Maiden’ is in order. Is it a forgery?”

Ye Mo replied, “It’s not a forgery. It’s genuine, but it’s problematic. I can’t explain it, but I sense it makes people uncomfortable. Besides, everyone who’s handled this painting in the past died mysteriously.”

Mr. Wang pressed, “Professor Ye, aren’t you a firm believer in science? These vague feelings and the deaths of those people—what connection could they possibly have with this painting?”

Ye Mo said, “I believe in science, but I also trust my intuition. This isn’t superstition—my experience tells me to react this way.”

Mr. Wang seemed to lose patience. “I don’t care about your feelings. As long as the painting is genuine and the paperwork is complete, it goes on the auction tomorrow. It’s nearly ten o’clock. I’m going to bed. Professor Ye, please see yourself out.”

Ye Mo had just stepped out of the room when the door closed sharply behind him.

His expression was grim, and as he looked up, he saw Su Tong watching him, amusement flickering in her eyes.

His face darkened further, and his tone grew harsh. “Miss Su, eavesdropping on others—is that your idea of manners?”

Su Tong shrugged, unbothered, a smile lingering on her lips. “I wasn’t eavesdropping. I listened openly and honestly.”

She studied Ye Mo’s face again—the black aura had already gathered between his brows, and he was tainted with that strange and sinister energy.

She kindly warned him again, “Mr. Ye, you’re already involved. It’s too late to withdraw now. If anything happens, remember to find me.”

With that, she turned and went back to her room.

Ye Mo was furious, but his upbringing prevented him from any rash action.

He could only clench his fists, take a few deep breaths, and force down his agitation.

After a moment’s thought, he decided not to return to his room. Instead, he wanted to inspect the ‘Divine Maiden’ painting once more, hoping to find another reason to keep it off the auction block.

Ye Mo was not only a university professor but also an expert in antique authentication.

This time, he’d been invited by Wang Chenyang, the head of Xibo Auctions, to serve as one of the event’s appraisers.

If anything happened to this painting in the future, he would be held accountable.

He was known for his rigorous standards in the industry and could not let this painting damage his reputation.

Arriving at the room where the auction items were kept, Ye Mo felt it was even colder than before.

It was the kind of chill that seeped into his bones, making any amount of clothing seem useless.

He greeted the security guard, entered the room, and took out the box containing the ‘Divine Maiden’ painting from the safe.

Unrolling the scroll, the yellowed paper revealed a beautiful goddess at its center, surrounded by kneeling worshippers.

The goddess’s eyes were compassionate and sorrowful, her hand scattering petals symbolizing luck to the world.

The people prayed to her with devotion.

The scene was harmonious and exquisite.

Ye Mo examined it inch by inch with a magnifying glass.

But what he didn’t know was that, as he focused on the goddess, the faces of the worshippers twisted into expressions of despair, as if their agony seeped through the paper itself.

And when he turned his attention to the crowd, their faces returned to devotion, while the goddess’s expression grew ferocious, as if she hungered for flesh.

Ye Mo saw nothing amiss in the painting, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong.

The temperature around him dropped even further; he sneezed several times.

The painting was so bizarre, it reminded him of the rumors surrounding it.

It was over a thousand years old.

For generations, it had been in the possession of the illustrious Huo family in Beijing.

But for reasons unknown, the Huo family suddenly declined thirty years ago, with family members dying one after another.

The painting was then acquired by a wealthy businessman, but soon he and his wife died as well.

Their son, suspecting the painting was cursed, tried to sell it cheaply.

There were many who were not afraid of death or superstition, so the painting quickly found a new owner.

Yet not long after, this new owner also died.

Everyone believed the painting was cursed and no one dared to buy it.

Eventually, the painting vanished.

It resurfaced more than a decade ago, purchased by Su Mingzhe.

Many expected Su Mingzhe to die soon, but not only did he survive, the Su Group flourished.

People thought the curse had passed, that the painting would bring prosperity for years, and they eagerly offered huge sums to buy it from Su Mingzhe.

But he never intended to sell.

Now, Su Mingzhe was willing to let it go—could it be that he knew the curse had returned?

Thinking of this, Ye Mo slapped his own face in self-mockery. “Ye Mo, what’s wrong with you? Unable to find the cause, are you starting to believe in superstition?”

He rubbed his face and his numb arms, and continued to examine the painting, inch by inch.

But he was unaware that dense sinister energy had already enveloped him.

Because of the protective golden aura of virtue, the energy hadn’t harmed him immediately.

Yet as time passed, the sinister energy thickened, eventually overwhelming even the golden light.

He didn’t know how much time had passed when suddenly his head throbbed with unbearable pain, and his internal agitation burst forth uncontrollably.

He clutched his head and howled in torment.

The security guard outside heard him, rushed in, and dragged him away.

Someone called for a doctor.

When the doctor arrived, Ye Mo’s face was deathly pale, his body icy cold, and he even showed signs of self-harm.

But after a thorough examination, the doctor found nothing physically wrong.

As time went on, Ye Mo’s symptoms only worsened.

The doctor, out of options, prepared to send him to the best hospital in the city.

At that moment, Ye Mo regained clarity for a brief instant, and remembering Su Tong’s earlier advice, he urgently recited her phone number to the doctor. “Call this number—get Su Tong here, she might have a soluti