Myriad Heavens: Who Let Him Into the Horror Movie?

Chapter 6: Breaking the Flying Curse

Inside a gloomy, spacious room.

Under the flickering candlelight, Ma Gusu sat cross-legged before the altar, eyes tightly shut, lips muttering ceaselessly.

He was slightly overweight and of medium height, with short hair wrapped by a red headband, wearing a robe of the same color. His pale face carried a faint bluish hue, and on his forehead was a strange mark—black at its core and purple at the edges—resembling a vertical eye.

At the center of the altar stood a four-armed demonic idol with sharp teeth and a pointed mouth.

Before the idol lay a palm-sized brown human figurine.

The figurine had no facial features and lay within a recessed wooden container, its body stained with traces of crimson blood—like a corpse resting in a coffin.

Ma Gusu placed both hands before him, forming a strange gesture, chanting faster and faster as his expression turned increasingly hideous.

This was one of the most notorious Head-Descending Curses of Nanyang—the “Spirit Nurturing” technique!

Also known as the Flying Curse, the sorcerer could command a ghost he had reared to kill the one targeted by the curse.

This invisible ghost could control weapons or even possess the victim’s body, manipulating them to act however it wished—impossible to guard against.

Compared to some other Head-Descending Curses, this one was less bloody, yet no less terrifying.

Like the others, the Flying Curse required the victim’s birth date and hour, strands of hair, and a photo to take effect.

After realizing that the woman had disappeared, Ma Gusu immediately went to search her room.

Though the scene had been covered up, his eyes could not be deceived. With one glance, he knew something was wrong with her disappearance.

Ma Gusu was furious.

Anyone who asked him to cast a curse had to pay the price.

In his eyes, that woman was already his private possession. He would never allow anyone to take away what belonged to him without his permission.

He had no idea who did it, and naturally could not obtain the culprit’s information—but he still had a way.

As long as he successfully placed a Flying Curse on that woman, anyone near her would not escape the ghost’s hunt.

Fragmented images flashed across Ma Gusu’s mind.

The figurine before him lay trapped in the tiny coffin, unable to move.

There were quite a few people on the other side…

But when had ghosts ever feared numbers?

Ma Gusu’s expression twisted even more viciously.

He changed his hand seal, chanting faster still.

The figurine in the tiny coffin twitched violently, almost turning over.

Suddenly, several pale marks appeared across the featureless face—whip marks, as if something had lashed it. The blood upon it scattered, and the figurine’s form wilted in weakness.

At the same time, a sharp “pa” resounded in Ma Gusu’s mind—like that same whip had struck his own face. Pain jolted through him, making his whole body shudder.

“Courting death!”

Ma Gusu roared, eyes snapping open as he leapt to his feet, flinging his hands in several strange gestures.

The figurine in the small coffin jerked rigidly, struggling to rise, then suddenly fell back inside.

More whip marks appeared silently on its body and head.

Agony flooded Ma Gusu’s senses—his mind went blank, breath scattering as he collapsed to the floor.

That pain only stoked his rage further, driving him nearly insane.

Whoever it was—he would drag them back and feed them to his worms!

Slowly climbing back to his feet, Ma Gusu snatched up a small transparent vial from the floor.

Uncorking it, he prepared to pour the remaining blood inside into the coffin.

But at the instant the bottle tilted, his crazed mind hesitated.

To command a ghost, one had to pay a price—otherwise, one would face the ghost’s backlash.

Usually, Ma Gusu fed his ghost the blood of those with spiritual power as payment.

Yet such blood was extremely hard to obtain, and he had only a little left.

Rage overcame reason. Ma Gusu poured every last drop of blood into the tiny coffin.

The figurine within surged with a heavy, chilling aura and let out a terrifying shriek.

Ma Gusu grinned grimly, threw aside the bottle, and knelt before the altar once more to continue his ritual.

……

After being struck by the whip, the woman lay motionless on the ground, vacant eyes staring at the floor.

Indeed—a Flying Curse!

Li Zhen was not surprised.

What did surprise him was the sheer power of the palm-leaf whip in his hand—one strike had nearly driven the evil spirit from the woman’s body.

He had only wanted to test whether the whip worked, but its effect had far exceeded his expectations.

Tightening his grip, Li Zhen fixed his gaze on the woman lying before him.

He knew it wasn’t over yet.

Suddenly, the woman lifted her head.

Without hesitation, Li Zhen lashed out again—several strikes across her face, neck, and shoulders.

Perhaps because of his tension, he noticed the whip turning colder, almost biting into his palm.

The woman writhed and screamed on the floor, and the little ghost inside her screamed as well.

Her voice mingled with a harsh, ghastly male tone—layer upon layer of wails that chilled the blood.

Soon, the woman stopped moving.

Wong Kam-Sun rushed into the room, grabbed a rope, and prepared to tie her up again in case she lashed out.

Li Zhen frowned at his right hand holding the whip.

The “biting cold” wasn’t an illusion—his palm had turned stiff and purple, though the whip itself wasn’t truly that frigid.

Even holding a block of ice wouldn’t have frozen his hand like this.

Was this what Master Wan Madama had called yin energy?

Wong Kam-Sun and Songchai’s sudden cries startled him.

He looked up sharply—only to see the woman fling both of them aside and rise from the ground.

Instinctively, Li Zhen lashed her twice more.

Her face twisted, but she didn’t seem to feel as much pain as before—and still had the strength to lunge at him.

The whip didn’t work anymore?!

Wong Kam-Sun and Songchai tried to restrain her from behind, but she tossed them off with ease—one slammed into a cabinet, the other into a wall, both too dazed to get up.

Master, have mercy!

Li Zhen drew out the lotus-shaped golden leaf he carried and hurled it at the woman’s face.

But she didn’t react at all.

Li Zhen’s expression changed drastically.

Damn!

That master tricked me!

The woman advanced on him mercilessly.

Li Zhen backed toward the door, grabbed the trident-like ritual tool placed there for emergencies.

As she charged wildly forward, Li Zhen thrust the weapon into her shoulder.

Her body jerked violently, trembling in place.

The half-headed evil spirit within her screamed in agony, trying to flee but held fast by some unseen force.

“Vegetable-Basket God!”

Li Zhen gripped the whip tucked under his arm.

This time, the whip seemed to move on its own, lashing across the woman’s face. Its root-like ends drove into her nose, ears, and mouth.

The sudden change left Li Zhen momentarily stunned.

He could actually feel a surge of desperate hunger emanating from the whip…

The evil spirit was drawn back into the woman’s body—its screams fading away.

When the whip finally slipped from her face, the woman collapsed forward in exhaustion.

Droplets of water trickled from her features, and her breath weakened to nearly nothing.