The True Young Master's Metaphysical Road to Fame in Showbiz Ch. 72

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He just swept the dead vines out of his way with his staff—and charged straight at Qu Feng.

Qu Feng gasped sharply, barely holding back a scream as his soul ripped a little more from the strain. He spun around and threw a talisman.

Chi Qingzhou twisted mid-stride, dodging the spell, and lunged again.

But the talisman didn't fall to the ground. Instead, it curved mid-air—and shot straight at Zhu Yantong's forehead!

Zhu Yantong couldn't see clearly from a distance, and by the time the thing was in his face, it was too late. His eyes widened in horror, and he scrambled to dodge.

But with one arm gone and ghost energy suppressing him, he had no chance against a sentient talisman like this.

A sick, primal fear crawled up his spine. Cold sweat poured down his back as he screamed in panic.

"Master, help me! HELP ME!!"

Before he could even finish the sentence, the talisman slapped flat onto his forehead.

A wave of hatred, resentment, fear, frustration, and bitterness exploded out of him, like a psychic nuke aimed straight at Chi Qingzhou.

—He didn't know where the talisman came from. All he felt was an intense, instinctual loathing for the person who'd ruined Qu Feng's plans: Chi Qingzhou.

Chi Qingzhou immediately caught on to Qu Feng's plan. His body halted for a beat—then he flipped back, dodging the first emotional shockwave.

Using the trees to move like a blur, he tried to get as far away from Zhu Yantong as possible.

But Zhu Yantong's hate was too real.

All that emotion chased after Chi Qingzhou like it had a personal vendetta. In just three seconds, the spell locked onto both of them, branding their souls.

Their emotions were now linked.

Zhu Yantong's raw negativity started flooding straight into Chi Qingzhou like a dam bursting.

He couldn't dodge anymore.

The onslaught hit his soul head-on. His steps faltered. If it weren't for the staff, he might've collapsed right then.

The refined yin energy Xing Shuangzhan had transferred to him the night before—already weakened by the system's illusions—was getting obliterated by this new emotional overload.

Within seconds, the protective energy web in his meridians was about to collapse.

But Zhu Yantong wasn't doing any better.

This spell hurt the caster first, then the target.

Whatever Chi Qingzhou was suffering, Zhu Yantong was getting hit just as hard.

His life force had already been drained before. Now his emotions were being torn from him too, and his barely-living body was rotting in real time.

It was like someone had poured boiling water on fresh, raw flesh. The pain wasn't just physical—it carved itself into the soul.

Zhu Yantong let out a scream so raw, so filled with agony, it echoed through the forest like a dying beast's final cry.

It wasn't until that moment that Zhu Yantong realized—

This spell... it was familiar.

He'd seen it before.

This exact same curse had once been used on Nuo Xin, the Grand Shaman. And he'd seen what it did to him.

Horror slowly spread across his weathered face, drowning in unbearable agony.

He tilted his head back, disbelief etched into every inch of his expression as tears—mixed with blood—slid down his cheeks.

That was his master.

The man he saw as his own father.

Someone he had never betrayed.

Why?

Why would he do this?

Zhu Yantong's eyes went wide.

Blood still blurred his vision—he couldn't even make out Qu Feng's face.

He didn't know what kind of expression Qu Feng was wearing right now... whether he felt even a sliver of guilt or remorse for what he'd done.

Zhu Yantong's lips trembled as he let out one last desperate scream:

"MASTER——!!"

But Qu Feng didn't flinch.

He raised a hand, summoning more white mist to try and patch up the tears in his soul.

Zhu Yantong's hoarse scream echoed on and on.

Until, in the next heartbeat... the screaming stopped.

The one making the sound had quietly turned to bone. His flesh rotted away like wet paper, collapsing into a pile of forgotten remains.

The last shreds of Zhu Yantong's semi-living emotions didn't die with him—they transformed. Became something worse. His soul's resentment, now fully ghost-born, crashed into the last fragile traces of yin energy in Chi Qingzhou's body.

It shattered through them like a sledgehammer to glass.

It felt like a neurotoxin slamming into his brain.

Chi Qingzhou's body trembled uncontrollably. His peach blossom eyes dulled, then began to glow red—eerily similar to Xing Shuangzhan's.

His head drooped, like he was about to pass out.

Qu Feng let out a breath of relief. His eyebrows relaxed slightly.

Even this kid, Chi Qingzhou—young and full of potential—wasn't immune. Even Nuo Qi, his wife, had eventually lost all her power to his methods.

Give it a few more minutes, and this mystic's soul would collapse completely. Xing Su, that ghost king, would go down with him.

Qu Feng tried to speed up the soul repair.

But something felt... off.

The wounds that had just started to mend were suddenly tearing open again—twice as fast.

He frowned, focus sharpening.

Chi Qingzhou stood still.

Totally motionless.

But at his feet... his shadow twitched. Then rose up.

Out of the dark, a shape formed—an exact copy of Chi Qingzhou, down to the twisted, blood-red eyes, glowing with madness and obsession.

The forest floor turned damp. Mold crept up from corners no one would've noticed before.

Qu Feng's severed head on the ground sensed something was wrong. It rolled warily, trying to locate the source.

...But it couldn't see anything.

Just outside its field of view, Chi Qingzhou's shadow opened its arms—and lunged forward, embracing his body.

Like a splash of ink exploding into color, Chi Qingzhou's once-innocent face morphed into something otherworldly.

The shadow vanished completely.

Chi Qingzhou slowly looked up, his irises now a deep, brilliant blood-red—gorgeous like carved ruby.

That was the moment everything cracked.

The madness boiling in his soul erupted.

He couldn't suppress the bloodlust anymore.

A soft, dreamy laugh slipped from his lips—sweet, airy, almost playful. Full of an innocent kind of excitement.

In two or three steps, he crossed over ten meters like it was nothing, bent down, and scooped Qu Feng's severed head into his hands.

The head was frozen in horror. Before it could scream, Chi Qingzhou clapped his hands together—

Snap.

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