Chapter 92: Many Figures, Uniform Movements (Seeking Monthly Tickets

What followed needed no further elaboration—scenes shifted endlessly, each one depicting Keiko’s life before death.

From the sorrow of discovering the boy she secretly loved, Kobayashi Shunsuke, had fallen for someone else;

To her numb indifference after her parents’ deaths, surviving only with the black cat;

Then, after the cat’s death and her spirit shattered, she was worn down by Saeki Tsuyoshi’s persistent coaxing, eventually marrying him and bearing his child…

These scenes unfolded before Wu Xian like a revolving lantern, as if trying to win his sympathy.

Yet though Wu Xian’s gaze upon Keiko always brimmed with pity, his actions showed no mercy—he had shattered her skull so many times it had become muscle memory.

Alongside that, the piercing cat shriek had also etched itself into his mind: every time he burst her head, the black cat would wail, and this made Wu Xian suspect something.

Then… his head-smashing speed increased even further!

He didn’t know how long had passed—perhaps an hour, perhaps several days.

When Wu Xian shattered Keiko’s skull once more, the scene before him finally changed in a way unlike before.

Still the vast Japanese-style ancestral home, far off, a man and woman were arguing, their forms blurred.

The man—Saeki Tsuyoshi—suddenly went mad, shoving Keiko, now a married woman, to the floor and raining fists upon her like a storm.

Though subjected to such brutality, the woman merely curled up, weeping uncontrollably, her voice thick with despair and hatred.

Yet even this wasn’t enough for Saeki Tsuyoshi—he grabbed a knife from the kitchen and plunged it straight into Keiko’s body.

Blood spurted from the wound; Keiko’s eyes widened in disbelief as she collapsed, life extinguished.

Afterward, Saeki Tsuyoshi didn’t stop—he began slicing and dismembering Keiko’s corpse with the knife, just as in a horror film.

“How pitiful…”

As with countless previous illusions, Wu Xian sighed, then slowly turned his head toward the black cat that had appeared without warning:

“But what good does showing me this do? Do you expect me to feel pity and spare Keiko?”

A faint, mocking smile curled his lips.

At the same time, Wu Xian stared into the black cat’s eyes—its golden irises blazed with searing light:

“If you’re so kind, why didn’t you stop Saeki Tsuyoshi when he killed Keiko and her son?

Oh, wait—shouldn’t I ask instead: how much of Saeki Tsuyoshi’s oligospermia was your doing?”

“Am I right… Source of the Curse?”

No sooner had he spoken than Wu Xian swung the Huntein Yan—golden-red staff motion flashed, shattering the illusion like a mirror.

Saeki Tsuyoshi vanished.

Keiko’s corpse vanished.

The Cursed House vanished.

The black cat… vanished too.

When all else disappeared, only a dilapidated, dust-choked room remained before Wu Xian.

Paper sliding doors were shattered; dust blanketed every corner; spiderwebs draped the ceiling, and rusted iron doorframes testified to the room’s long abandonment.

This was the true Cursed House—the dwelling place of the Curse’s Source.

Wu Xian narrowed his eyes, stepped inside, and tensed every muscle—ready for battle at any moment.

Yet as he reached the only intact sliding door inside the house, it slid open automatically, revealing what lay within.

Unlike the ruin outside, this room was clearly maintained—spotlessly clean, and the most striking sight was a graceful figure kneeling before a dressing table.

Since she faced away, Wu Xian couldn’t see her face, and the mirror on the table was foggy and indistinct.

Still, the black-clad woman meticulously applied makeup with an eyebrow pencil.

Even without seeing her face, from her posture—her proportions, her astonishingly wide hips like a grinding stone—one could imagine her as a bedmate that would drive any man wild.

Combined with her widow’s black kimono, Wu Xian couldn’t help but think of those countless films with large crowds and repetitive motions.

Wait!

If that’s the case, then as the only living male present, wasn’t he the male lead in this film?

Preposterous!

Using a cheap seduction trick to test a Reincarnator—who the hell are they looking down on?

If you’ve got guts, turn around and take off your kimono. If I blink once, I lose!

Thinking this, Wu Xian forced his eyes wide open, glaring at the black-clad woman with righteous intensity, waiting… damn it!—waiting for her next move.

“Hehe!”

At that moment, a seductive, lilting laugh rang out.

The black-clad woman set down the red lip paper, rose slowly, and turned her head—revealing her true face.

Just as imagined, she was a breathtaking beauty.

Skin like ice, bones like jade, body fluid and graceful, brows like distant mountains, glances sparkling with life.

Especially those dark, luminous eyes beneath her brows—truly brilliant as stars in the night sky.

Yet now those eyes brimmed with deep sorrow and resentment, as if staring at a heartless scoundrel who’d left after sex.

“….”

Why are you looking at me like that? I haven’t even taken my pants off yet!

Wu Xian felt utterly speechless, yet studied the black-clad woman closely—her face bore a strong resemblance to Keiko’s, yet was clearly different.

If he had to describe it, it was as if she’d been filtered with beauty enhancements, slimming effects, and more—she was a full tier more beautiful than the old Keiko.

Especially her almost demonic aura.

She seemed born to be a temptress—the very embodiment of seduction, every gesture radiating a power to corrupt. Even Wu Xian, whose mental strength had long surpassed a thousand, felt a momentary daze.

On the other side, seeing Wu Xian’s slightly dazed gaze, the black-clad beauty—who resembled Keiko—curved her lips slightly.

Then she swayed her exquisite figure, too alluring even for her wide kimono to conceal, step by step toward Wu Xian.

Zzzzzz——————!!

A flash of flame vanished, leaving a charred mark on the tatami beneath the woman’s feet.

She spoke in a haunting tone:

“My lord, how cruel you are—truly so heartless toward your humble servant?”

Her steps paused briefly, then continued as she gazed at Wu Xian with a mournful look, her voice dripping with sorrow—enough to make nearly any heterosexual man yearn to hold her close and comfort her.

Wu Xian merely tilted his head, then calmly sheathed the Huntein Yan and the Black God Gear, strode forward with a smile, and pulled the black-clad woman into his arms, whispering softly:

“I was wrong just now—I hurt you. I’ll make it up to you properly…”

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(End of Chapter)