Chapter Seventeen: The Terrifying Art Exhibition

Explosive Mad Bear—a name well known in Tianjing City for its strangeness—not for its strength, but for the intelligence that far surpassed other bizarre creatures. For that reason, Li Jue Tian and Han Zhen were, of course, familiar with this entity.

“They fought, didn’t they?” Li Jue Tian quickly deduced. It was common for these strange beings to slaughter one another in their relentless struggle for human fear. There was nothing unusual about it.

He glanced at the blast marks on the window. “Looks like it used the old trick to escape again.”

“So, big brother, what do we do this time?” Han Zhen put aside his notebook, looking puzzled at his elder brother.

“What else? We keep looking!” Li Jue Tian replied with frustration. He then produced a rope from his person. The rope circled in the air a few times, floated in a direction as if guided, and then fell.

This rope was the bizarre creature Li Jue Tian controlled—Spirit Tamers used such means to hunt others of their kind. There was an innate resonance among these strange beings; the ones tamed by Spirit Tamers could sense the presence of wild ones. Spirit Tamers relied on this resonance to track their prey.

Ordinarily, a strange creature would be killed at birth unless gifted with extraordinary instinct or talent. Only such beings would consciously—or unconsciously—flee or disguise their tracks. Any that survived to grow up were prodigies among their kind.

Gazing in the direction indicated by the rope, Li Jue Tian sighed. “Must be the Explosive Mad Bear. Never mind, catching him wouldn’t be a loss. Let’s go.”

From experience, neither his own nor Han Zhen’s tamed creatures could sense Feng Tianlin. If his rope now reacted, it could only be the Explosive Mad Bear.

Still, there was no need to lament. Catching one was better than nothing.

With that, the two set off in pursuit of the Explosive Mad Bear...

In the city center of Tianjing, on a busy street, the hour was past midnight, and few pedestrians or vehicles passed by.

A little girl in a red dress was hailing a taxi. Soon enough, a car pulled up beside her.

She climbed in. The driver, a cigarette dangling from his lips, hands on the wheel, didn’t look back as he asked, “Where to, kiddo?”

The girl kept her head down, her voice clear and childish: “Number 88, North Dragon Road.”

“Number 88, North Dragon Road? What for? Going to see your mother?” the driver joked, amused. He didn’t understand why a little girl would need to go there at this hour, but he didn’t pry. His tone was teasing as he started the car.

“How much money do you have?” he asked, needing to make sure she could pay the fare. Otherwise, things could get troublesome.

The girl, still with her head lowered, produced a red bill. “Is this enough?”

“Plenty!” The driver grinned, reassured by the sight of cash, and drove on.

When they arrived, the driver stopped the car. The girl handed him the bill and got out before he could make change. Watching her leave, he was a little puzzled—did people frequenting such places really have this much money?

But it was none of his business. He pinched the bill and prepared to end his shift. Just as he was admiring his luck, the bill began to change, the face on the note morphing into that of a porcelain doll. Suddenly, the doll’s expression twisted into a sinister grin.

“Ah!” The driver screamed, flinging the bill out the window, then sped away in terror.

The discarded bill transformed into a grotesque doll, which the little girl scooped up and held in her arms. The doll tilted its head up at the building, its smile uncanny.

“A horror art exhibition, is it? How interesting.”

He had heard of this place during one of his outings—two people had chatted about a horror art competition held here every night at 2 a.m. Feng Tianlin thought if his own image could be spread in such a way, he would surely harvest more than enough terror for himself.

Entering the building, he saw a long hallway with a poster: “Horror Art Exhibition, please proceed to Basement Level 2.”

“Now this is more like it. Such things always have their true flavor in the basement,” Feng Tianlin chuckled at the sign.

As he approached the stairwell, he saw a young couple hurrying up, faces pale with fear—no doubt frightened by something inside.

The scene only stoked Feng Tianlin’s curiosity. With a shimmer, he transformed into a middle-aged man and took Long Mengting by the hand to descend further.

In the so-called horror art exhibition, a crowd had already gathered. The space was filled with paintings—each more bizarre and terrifying than the last.

Just as Feng Tianlin was about to enter, a man at the entrance stopped him. “Entry requires a five-hundred fee, and minors are not allowed inside.”

Feng Tianlin fixed the man with a glance, a flash of light passing through his left eye. The man instantly grew vacant, and then, seeing Feng Tianlin, said, “Ah, it’s you—please, come in!”

In his eyes, Feng Tianlin had become a renowned horror artist, and Long Mengting had turned into his assistant.

Feng Tianlin smiled. He’d taken this form after noticing one of the artist profiles within and used the Eye of Illusion to convince the man that Long Mengting was his assistant.

Shaking his head, Feng Tianlin decided not to concern himself with the details and walked straight in, beginning to peruse the artwork.

“What’s this one supposed to be? They call this bloody? A slaughterhouse is more intense than this.”

“This one is gory enough, but still not scary.”

“This one’s interesting—it seems plain, but it awakens something deep and fearful inside.”

“Now this one’s even better: loneliness, despair, blood, terror...”

He studied painting after painting, noting the fear etched on the faces of those present. How fragile people’s nerves had become.

For strange beings, this was paradise. Long Mengting, at that moment, was greedily absorbing the waves of terror to increase her strength.

But Feng Tianlin was here for neither terror nor art appreciation. He needed to find an artist to paint his portrait.

The one he sought must be truly skilled, so he looked carefully.

Soon, a certain painting caught his eye: a small boy clutching iron bars, refusing to let go, countless hands reaching for him from behind. The palette was dark, and the terror and despair on the boy’s face were vividly rendered. Clearly, the artist’s ability was exceptional.

Reading the artist’s profile below, Feng Tianlin’s smile grew. The address and contact information were all listed—how accommodating.

“Ruan Miao? Interesting—and a woman, too.”

He glanced at her bio, a glint of determination in his eye. He had made up his mind—she was the one!