Chapter 827: Number One

The blood-oozing faces were like deflated balls, wrinkled and stuck flat against the ground. If not for Zhu Long and Zhang Ju blocking them, these disgusting things would have already crawled onto Chen Ge.

"It seems this gentleman doesn't want to have a civil conversation with us."

The blood was spreading across the art studio. Chen Ge stood behind Zhu Long and Zhang Ju, using his Yin Eye to size up the Red-clothed figure before them.

Blood splattered, the red robes swayed, and all manner of torture implements hung from the figure's skin. With each step he took, fragmented faces tumbled from beneath his outer garment.

Among Red-clothed ghosts, there were ranks and grades. Unfortunately, the one Chen Ge and his group had encountered belonged to the most dangerous class.

But this was also what puzzled Chen Ge even more—Zhu Long and Zhang Ju showed absolutely no fear in the face of such a Red-clothed ghost. Unlike Xu Yin, whose madness ran bone-deep and who fought with every shred of sanity stripped away, Zhu Long and Zhang Ju were composed. Their expressions were calm, as though some voice in their heads was telling them there was simply no need to be afraid.

When the Red-clothed figure spotted Zhu Long and Zhang Ju, he didn't attack immediately. He slowly raised his head, his entire face hidden beneath damp, matted hair.

Through the gaps in those dark locks, Chen Ge could see a face covered in black veins—pale, sickly. It seemed to be smiling.

*Drip.* A middle-aged man's face slid down from the sleeve of the red robe and landed between Chen Ge and the entity.

"Help me, this skin-peeling devil, help—"

*Crack!* Before the man could finish, a blood-stained safety boot smashed down hard onto his face.

His words were cut off by force, and his entire face shattered into pieces.

The room fell silent, and precisely because of that silence, the sound of dripping blood was especially clear.

The bloodstains on the safety boot deepened in color, their original hue swallowed up, as though the boot itself had been blood-red all along.

"Let's step aside. We're not his target." Zhou Tu, weakened and pale, looked up at the Red-clothed figure, his gaze unwavering. "He stayed here waiting for this very day. He wanted to be the first to see the scene inside this studio, because he is both a manager and a participant."

"A participant?"

"He's the author of the sixth painting—the monster that connects the two inverted worlds!"

As Zhou Tu spoke, his eyes never left the Red-clothed figure. His memories had awakened, and though he was still feeble, an extraordinary air now emanated from him.

The Red-clothed figure at the doorway didn't anger at being called a monster. If anything, he seemed to enjoy the title.

Footsteps echoed through the oil-painting studio as the Red-clothed figure brushed past Chen Ge, leaving a trail of blood on the floor, and walked to the center of the room.

He finally stopped beside the sixth painting, gazing at the oil canvas that had long since become unrecognizable.

Chen Ge vaguely recalled the content of the sixth painting—a person carrying the large mirror from the dance studio, who accidentally slipped and dropped it, shattering the glass.

Mirror shards lay scattered everywhere across the floor, and in each fragment, a blood-red face stared back.