Chapter 69: Gouging Out an Eye

The old Ghost with the Painted Skin, his body covered in black hair, looked uncannily like a monstrous ape, letting out strange, cackling laughter that made anyone who heard it shiver deep within.
“Heh heh, we’ve played enough, caused enough trouble; stop wasting time. Prepare to die, ha ha ha!”
Qingquan clasped his hands behind his back, pressing the tip of his peculiar fountain pen firmly against his middle finger, silently breaking the skin. He shot Cui Yue a meaningful glance, then discreetly smeared a drop of his own blood onto the small peachwood sword.
The peachwood sword, now touched by Qingquan’s blood, changed subtly; the script and talismans inscribed on its blade shifted from gold to crimson, gradually becoming blood-red.
Cui Yue, holding the sword, was surprised—at first, its weight seemed unchanged, but he sensed a surge of fierce, untamed power within the blade, a world apart from before.
Qingquan’s strange pen, having tasted blood, glowed faintly red.
Qingquan gazed at Cui Yue, his eyes resolute, nodded once, and spat out two words from his lips, unequivocal and commanding:
“Do it!”
Cui Yue understood instantly. As Qingquan’s words faded, he sprang forward like an arrow, raising the peachwood sword in his palm; a streak of blood-red light shot forth from his hand.
Qingquan, not idle, moved almost in tandem; he spread his notebook open on the ground, wielded his pen, and with swift strokes, traced several intricate lines. In a flash, the lines intertwined, forming the semblance of a vast net.
The old Ghost with the Painted Skin never expected Cui Yue to charge forward instead of retreating—a moth to the flame! His sickly green eyes fixed on the blood-red glow, showing astonishment; this was nothing like the peachwood sword he’d seen before.
“Foolhardy! All in vain!”
The old Ghost sneered, stretching his spectral hand toward Cui Yue’s neck; with a light squeeze, he could twist Cui Yue’s head clean off.
At the brink of life and death, Cui Yue, driven by unknown courage, threw caution aside—his face exposed, offering no defense, risking everything.
As the saying goes, the reckless fear nothing!
The old Ghost with the Painted Skin hadn’t anticipated that his seemingly weak prey would summon such ferocity and boldness in his final moments.
A ghostly hand loomed large before him, filthy and stained with blood, its nails sharp as knives, slicing through the air. Cui Yue’s pupils contracted; instinctively, he jerked his head aside, the ghost’s claws grazing his cheek.
Swish!
Pain stabbed through Cui Yue’s face, leaving bloody marks—no time to waste!
Having dodged the blow, Cui Yue moved like the wind, taking a wide stride and leaping up.

Though Cui Yue escaped the first strike, his chest was exposed—an open target. The old Ghost hadn’t expected the boy to evade him and still charge forward, risking everything. Ghostly claws, sharp as serpents, lunged out, ready to pierce Cui Yue’s abdomen as soon as he came within reach.
All or nothing!
Just a bit faster! One final step!
The blood-red light in Cui Yue’s hand flared; on the last step, he leapt high, almost lunging forward, feinting once, then thrusting desperately with his right hand.
Thud! Green, viscous fluid sprayed from the old Ghost’s left eye socket!
A guttural, agonized roar burst from the fiend’s mouth!
The tide turned instantly; the ghost’s claws struck Cui Yue’s side, digging an inch into his flesh. In that split-second, Cui Yue drove the peachwood sword deep into the ghost’s left eye.
This mutually destructive tactic was a gamble; Cui Yue, the weaker, dodged vital spots as much as possible, his speed beating the fiend by the tiniest fraction of a second. Had his luck or movement failed, his fate would have been gruesome—evisceration.
“You think you’re invincible? I’ll stab you, burst your eyeball!”
Green fluid splattered across Cui Yue’s face, its stench choking him. He coughed violently, spat out his fury, and, seeing the ghost wounded, felt a surge of satisfaction—finally venting his pent-up rage!
Roar! Roar! Roar!
Wracked with pain, the old Ghost howled skyward, his mouth full of black teeth, clutching his eye and rampaging blindly, spraying green fluid everywhere.
Cui Yue meant to bolt after landing a blow, yanking hard—but the peachwood sword stuck fast in the ghost’s eye socket. With the fiend berserk and thrashing, Cui Yue grew desperate. Before he could pull back, the mad ghost turned his hand into a fist and struck Cui Yue’s chest!
Thud!
A spray of blood soared through the air!
Cui Yue, hit like a hammer, mouth flooding with blood, his clothes stained, was flung backward, crashing over several rows of benches. The peachwood sword tumbled to the ground.
He coughed, sputtering blood.

Cui Yue lay prone, his chest heaving with labored breaths, spitting blood, his consciousness fading. His trembling hands tried several times but failed to lift him.
“Cui Yue!”
Qingquan shouted anxiously.
The talisman in Qingquan’s hand was nearly complete—only one step remained. Though Cui Yue had landed a blow, he was still no match for the old Ghost, and could not hold out much longer.
Qingquan’s plan was on the verge of collapse, missing only the final stroke!
The old Ghost, clutching his eye, glared furiously at Cui Yue on the ground. His black hair bristled, his mouth opening wide, eager to devour Cui Yue whole; he roared,
“You! How dare you!”
Cui Yue moved his lips, but before he could speak, more blood welled up, his body limp as a broken string, unable even to roll over.
The ghost’s single eye glowed green, wicked and vengeful; his fangs flashed as he spat blood, sneering coldly,
“Twisting off your head is too easy for you. I’ll tear you apart alive, gouge out your eyes, chew them to bits! Ha ha ha!”
Cui Yue’s vision blurred; he could barely make out the ghost’s outline, hearing only the terrifying, sinister laughter. Instinctively, he crawled backward.
Before the ghost could strike, Qingquan let out a piercing cry. His white-clad figure flashed, placing himself before Cui Yue.
“Oh? You’re courting death? I’ll deal with you first, then flay him alive.”
The old Ghost’s expression was vicious; facing Qingquan, he sneered.
Qingquan, heedless of anything else, softly chanted the spell of divine strength. Instantly, golden light coiled around his arms, and he punched with both fists—this was a matter of life and death, and he gave it his all!
The ghost’s solitary green eye flickered; he showed no fear of the golden light, only disdain. Both ghostly claws lunged at Qingquan.
The golden light carried immense power, raining down on the old Ghost like a storm. Though his black, iron-hard skin remained largely unscathed, a few pale marks appeared.