Technique of Using Sorcery to Overcome Sorcery

【New Version Mission Released: Cursing Arts】

【Mission Description: Cursing Arts originated as an ancient shamanic technique, said to be capable of subduing people or objects through curses】

【Mission Requirements: Collect cursed objects and locate the person spreading them】

【Cursed Objects Collected: 0/6】

Lin Mo, who had been flying mid-air, came to a halt.

"No way, no way—a new mission already?!"

Cursing Arts, huh?

Hovering in place, he pulled out his phone and deftly opened QianDu (a search engine). The search results were sparse—mostly vague folk tales and a few pretentious forum posts. One user who called themselves a "Mysticism Master" insisted the technique had long been lost to time, dismissing modern claims as scams.

Lin Mo scoffed and pocketed his phone.

Lost to time?

Then what was this mission in front of him? A ghostly resurrection?

Cursing Arts had existed since the Shang and Zhou dynasties. Originally, this ancient shamanic practice had blessings and prayers woven into it. But now, it seemed only the curses remained—as if the good parts had faded away while the worst endured.

Still, Lin Mo wasn’t well-versed in this stuff. After a moment’s thought, he followed the trail of red mist drifting through the air.

As he ventured deeper, the mist thickened, shifting from a faint pink to a glaring crimson, swirling with resentment and malice beyond ordinary comprehension.

So this was the cursed version of Cursing Arts?

Definitely a step up from "drawing circles to curse you."

But it didn’t seem to affect others—just a targeted curse against one person.

The red mist finally settled, clinging to the seventh-floor window of a residential building like an ugly, festering sore, oozing from the gaps in the glass.

Lin Mo hovered across from it, surveying the neighborhood. A decent mid-tier complex with decent greenery—nothing out of the ordinary.

His gaze fixed on the window. The inside was pitch-black, curtains drawn tight.

An endless stream of cursed energy seeped from that darkness.

The red mist was leaking from the very windowsill before him.

"This must be the place."

Lin Mo landed on the sill and reached out, brushing his fingers through the red haze. No discomfort, no effect.

Truly a personalized service.

He phased through the window, landing soundlessly in the living room.

A pungent mix of smells assaulted his senses—the metallic tang of blood, a faint rot, and the cloying sweetness of cheap air freshener trying (and failing) to mask it all. The three odors twisted together like a noose around his nose.

On the wall, two black-and-white portraits stared down in silence from the dimness.

A woman knelt in the center of the room, her back to him, posture eerily reverent as she muttered something under her breath in an indistinct rhythm.

Before her stood a waist-high makeshift altar, its centerpiece a straw doll the size of two palms. Its head was studded with fine needles.

A drop of blood slid from the woman’s wrist, landing precisely on the doll.

"Found you."

Lin Mo’s voice was quiet, but it shattered the unnatural stillness like a stone hurled into stagnant water.

The woman stiffened as if electrocuted, whipping her head around.

"Who are you?! How did you get in?!" Her voice was hoarse, laced with panic at being discovered.

She scrambled to her feet, clutching a fruit knife smeared with blood—her own wrist still dripping.

Oh? Practicing some knife artistry, are we?

The woman looked to be in her forties, pale-faced but younger than Auntie Zheng.

The portraits on the wall—a middle-aged man and a teenage boy—were likely her late husband and son.

"Cursing Arts. Who taught you? And why use it on Zheng Yuan?"

The woman faltered, then bared her teeth in a snarl. "I don’t know what you’re talking about! Get out, or I’ll call the police!"

Lin Mo had already scanned her with his divine sense—utterly ordinary, her physical condition weaker than Auntie Zheng’s from years of cleaning work.

The only thing out of place was that straw doll.

Objects imbued with Cursing Arts were called cursed artifacts.

A strand of hair was wrapped around the doll.

"This hair belongs to Zheng Yuan, doesn’t it?"

Lin Mo’s gaze locked onto her—not a question, but a statement.

The woman’s breath hitched. No more words. With a ragged scream, she lunged at him, knife raised.

"Get out, or I’ll stab you!"

Lin Mo had already checked the kitchen. No other corpses here—just her own blood feeding the doll.

He merely lifted a hand.

The woman’s body jerked mid-air as if seized by an invisible force, then slammed backward into the wall with a dull thud.

The knife clattered to the floor. She slid down, stunned.

"Why waste words?"

Soul Extraction!

Her eyes glazed over instantly, all fury and fear draining away into eerie blankness—like a puppet with its strings cut.

"Explain. Why use Cursing Arts against Zheng Yuan?"

As if triggered, she spoke in a flat, emotionless monotone:

"Why... why does her daughter still live? Why does her daughter get to attend high school, to laugh so freely? My Qiangqiang is gone. Our husbands are dead. Why does she still have hope...?"

What a torrent of bitterness. Just let it all out, huh?

She’d met Zheng Yuan at the bank, both widows—supposedly kindred spirits. But upon learning Zheng Yuan’s daughter was alive, thriving, even excelling in school, something in her snapped.

So she turned to Cursing Arts.

Absurd? Sure. But the world was full of people like this.

Most just lacked the means to curse others.

Give someone the power to make others suffer, and suddenly, everyone luckier than them becomes a target.

Lin Mo grabbed the straw doll from the altar.

Though drenched in blood moments ago, it now looked pristine.

The instant his fingers closed around it—

A surge of malice erupted from within.

His divine sense flared, encasing the vile energy completely.

"Ultra Handsome Immortal Cultivation System, what the hell is this?!"

[System analyzing... This cursed artifact contains concentrated essence of the Eight Sufferings.]

Surprisingly, the system actually answered.

Lin Mo pressed further.

"What’s the 'Eight Sufferings'?"

[This object embodies Resentment from the Eight Sufferings. The user nourishes the artifact with their hatred, amplifying its effects.]