“Yes, an art exhibition just for you,” Lu Pingfeng spoke gently and calmly.

Wen Yuchi pulled out a chair and sat down. Lu Pingfeng picked up a white porcelain teapot, poured half a cup of tea into a porcelain cup in front of Wen Yuchi, and then added half a cup of milk, asking softly, “How many sugar cubes?”

Wen Yuchi smiled, looking at him, “How did you know I’d choose milk tea instead of coffee?”

You c an fi nd t he la te st cha pte rs at ( th e bl mu se . c o m )

“I gave you such an expensive gift, but after a week, I still haven’t received a thank you from you. If you truly didn’t want to communicate with me, you’d have sent it back through the delivery service. But… it’s such a beautiful butterfly specimen; you wouldn’t want it to get damaged in transit, so you’d deliver it back yourself. After so many days, you’ve finally come. So, I figured you must be very busy.” Lu Pingfeng’s gentle voice gradually eased Wen Yuchi’s tense nerves.

“So, why milk tea and not coffee?” Wen Yuchi asked curiously.

“Seven days of overtime—haven’t you had enough coffee?” Lu Pingfeng leaned toward Wen Yuchi and, closing his eyes, gently sniffed the collar of his shirt. “It’s not the scent of freshly ground Arabica coffee beans. You’ve been drinking a lot of instant coffee without milk. If you keep it up, the dark circles under your eyes won’t go away.”

Wen Yuchi, who had been forcing himself to stay awake, yawned openly at Lu Pingfeng’s words. His eyelids drooped, and he looked as if he might fall asleep on the table at any moment.

“Three sugar cubes, thank you.”

With that, Wen Yuchi grabbed the sweetest-looking cream muffin from the top of the dessert tower and stuffed it into his mouth.

Meanwhile, Lu Pingfeng, unhurriedly, used small tongs to drop three sugar cubes into Wen Yuchi’s milk tea. He swirled a spoon in the cup a few times and then rested it on the saucer.

“Do you like the gifts I gave you?” Lu Pingfeng asked with a hint of amusement in his smile.

“Those gifts?” Wen Yuchi grabbed the cup directly, drinking a large gulp like he was chugging water. The fine Ceylon tea was lost on him. “Isn’t the ‘Goddess of Light’ the only thing you gave me?”

“Your colleagues don’t seem to think so,” Lu Pingfeng hinted.

Perhaps due to days of constant work, Wen Yuchi’s brain was a bit slow. After a few seconds, he suddenly realized.

“Oh… you’re talking about those things. You know, you’re someone who pursues the ultimate in aesthetics. But cockroaches, rats, and spider corpses symbolize fear and humiliation. Those things couldn’t have come from you—they don’t match your style.”

Wen Yuchi leaned closer to look at him. Lu Pingfeng lowered his eyes and smiled gently.

“You’ve got a crazy fan, Mr. Great Artist,” Wen Yuchi straightened his back, wiped the almond crumbs from the corner of his mouth, leaned back lazily, and looked at Lu Pingfeng. “Maybe your fan got jealous of the beautiful butterfly you gave me.”

“If the ‘Goddess of Light’ is really that beautiful, why would you return it?”

“Because compared to the ‘Goddess of Light,’ there’s something even more beautiful drawing me back here.”

“Oh? And what is this more beautiful thing?” Lu Pingfeng lowered his head with a faint smile, then looked up, as if saying, “Go ahead, perform.”

Wen Yuchi’s answer was just one word: “You.”

At that moment, under the play of light and shadow, his smile seemed as fragile as moonlight falling upon a ruined city, as if it could lure the old town back to life to breathe one last time.

Lu Pingfeng’s gaze couldn’t shift away. Hesitant, he asked, “Me?”

“Mr. Lu, your bone structure is the most beautiful I’ve seen, whether in living people or dead bodies,” Wen Yuchi said, picking up another small cake and taking a bite, his eyes still fixed on Lu Pingfeng. “May I appreciate you for a moment?”

“With pleasure,” Lu Pingfeng’s smile deepened, the amusement in it more pronounced.

As an artist, this was the first time he had been treated as an artwork to be appreciated.

“Hmm, your brow bone is prominent, and your eye sockets are deep—but these I don’t need to mention. The key is that your brow bone isn’t too low. If it were too close to your eyes, it would create a sense of oppression. In that case, any attempt to present yourself as gentle and polite would lose credibility.”

The implication was that Lu Pingfeng’s current gentleness was a facade, simply benefitting from the structure of his brow and eye sockets.

“Your jawline is sharp, with clean and strong angles, giving you a sense of distance while also appearing noble and elegant.”

“Next, are you going to tell me about the golden ratio?” Lu Pingfeng asked.

Wen Yuchi swallowed the cake, and this time, Lu Pingfeng refilled his tea by a third, without adding more sugar or milk.

This person had a strong ability to observe and gauge his needs. Like now, Wen Yuchi had gobbled down two pieces of cake due to low blood sugar, but that didn’t mean he had a sweet tooth. Lu Pingfeng, just refilling his tea, helped to cut through the sweetness.

“Mr. Lu, you might be disappointed to hear that your features don’t quite fit the golden ratio. In fact, if they did, you’d likely look quite ordinary.” Wen Yuchi didn’t hold the handle of the cup, instead grabbing it as if he were drinking alcohol and taking a large gulp. “The beauty of your bone structure lies in the perfect balance of all its distances. The distance between your eyes, the space between your brow bone and your eye sockets, the length of your mid-face, the distance from your lower lip to your jaw—all are harmonious and perfect.”

This time, Lu Pingfeng lowered his head with a smile. From Wen Yuchi’s angle, he could only see his forehead and nose bridge, but the overwhelming beauty of it seemed to flood into Wen Yuchi’s eyes, as if it could make him cherish all things.

“So, you like my skull. If I die one day, I’ll make sure to leave my skull to you in my will,” Lu Pingfeng said seriously, looking up.

“Your wrist,” Wen Yuchi said.

“Hmm?”

“I like your wrist the most.” Wen Yuchi’s eyes fell to Lu Pingfeng’s wrist. “Unfortunately… I haven’t seen it today.”

Lu Pingfeng was wearing a light sweater over a linen shirt, with the cuff buttons fastened, concealing his wrist.

“Oh—Mr. Forensic Expert, when you shook my hand that day, was it to examine the scars on my fingers or to look at my wrist?” Lu Pingfeng asked.

“Your wrist.”

Wen Yuchi’s face showed no embarrassment, completely at ease.

“Would you still like to see it?” Lu Pingfeng extended his right hand toward Wen Yuchi.

“Yes, I would.” Wen Yuchi carefully wiped the crumbs from his fingers with a napkin, unbuttoned Lu Pingfeng’s cuff, and neatly folded it up.

Lu Pingfeng stretched his hand forward slightly, placing his wrist in Wen Yuchi’s palm.

“Should I update my will?”

“No need.” Wen Yuchi’s fingertips touched Lu Pingfeng’s wrist bone. “If you die one day, I probably won’t find it beautiful anymore.”

“Why?” Lu Pingfeng propped his chin with his other hand, his gaze never leaving Wen Yuchi’s face.

The young assistant forensic doctor lowered his eyelashes, focusing intently on the direction and curvature of the wrist bones, showing a candidness and authenticity that surpassed the flattery of art critics and collectors.

“It’s like a wildflower pulled from a cracked wall, or a twisted pine tree torn from a cliff, or a flying fish stranded on the shore—it loses its beauty. Only when it exists on your body does it have value for appreciation.”

Wen Yuchi, ever the gentleman, pushed Lu Pingfeng’s hand away and stood up. “Since this is a private art exhibition prepared just for me, I must take my time to appreciate Mr. Lu’s works.”

He walked to the door of the studio and began to make the round clockwise.

The first painting depicted a vine coiled around a tree. The tree had been drained of nutrients, its outer bark withered and peeling, and its center hollowed out, with insects crawling from the rot. The vine’s leaves had yellowed and drooped, unable to draw sustenance despite its tight grip.

The two formed a twisted shape, and the dark, gloomy colors of the painting only intensified the sense of struggle, as if the vine was trying to claw its way out of the canvas.

“What’s the name of this painting?”

“I never intended to display it publicly, so I didn’t give it a name.” Lu Pingfeng remained seated, leaning back, watching Wen Yuchi’s silhouette.

“This painting vividly captures the control and plunder born from love,” Wen Yuchi said softly, tilting his head. “So, loving someone too obsessively or too much is dangerous. The more one loves, the more one desires from the other.”

“Sounds as if you’ve once loved obsessively.”

Wen Yuchi shook his head. “I only obsess over finding the cause of death. Take this tree, for example. I would need to know what caused its wound, whether it was a disease or mechanical damage. How long it had been drained of nutrients, and how long it would take to decompose after it died.”

“But you see love in it,” Lu Pingfeng said, turning slightly to look at him.

“I see no love in dead things. It’s just that after hearing so many cases, this situation fits the profile of a passion-related crime involving control and possession.”

Having said that, Wen Yuchi moved on to the second painting.

In the field stood a scarecrow, and impaled on its shoulder was a sharpened bamboo stick, upon which a bird was skewered. The stick pierced the bird’s tail and emerged from its open beak. The bird’s feathers were already beginning to fall, some scattered on the scarecrow’s shoulder, while the scarecrow’s eerie grin, combined with the dark colors and exaggerated lines, evoked a chilling cruelty despite the absence of blood.

“My agent said this painting wouldn’t sell well, because it’s too neurotic,” Lu Pingfeng commented.

But Wen Yuchi didn’t step back. He even moved half a step closer to the scarecrow.

“Is loneliness neurotic?” Wen Yuchi asked softly, as if speaking to Lu Pingfeng or perhaps merely to himself.

“Why loneliness?” Lu Pingfeng’s finger twitched slightly.

“The farmer impaled this bird on the scarecrow’s shoulder to scare away the rest of the flock, right? Only with the farmer’s interest and death’s mercy does the scarecrow have this bird for company. But…”

“But what?” Lu Pingfeng stood up and walked to Wen Yuchi’s side, holding a teacup.

“But a scarecrow doesn’t have a heart. It doesn’t know what loneliness is. Unless…the person who painted it is very lonely.”

With that, Wen Yuchi turned back, took his tea cup from Lu Pingfeng, and drank from it deeply.

“Is there nothing in this world that stirs your emotions?” Lu Pingfeng asked.

“Of course there is. I’ll let you know when I’m feeling sentimental.” Wen Yuchi glanced back at him and moved on to the next painting.

In the center of the studio hung a painting of a redback spider. The male spider was reduced to half its body, but its most important part remained inside the female’s shell. Their chase and destruction formed a stark contrast, with wild strokes and dark yet bold colors. The male spider’s death carried an unsettling intensity, as the extremes of giving and taking made one’s heart tremble.

“Of all the works in this studio, this is your favorite, isn’t it?” Lu Pingfeng asked.

“It most resembles how I see you, Mr. Lu,” Wen Yuchi replied, turning to glance at Lu Pingfeng.

At that moment, Wen Yuchi’s eyes and the smile on his lips seemed to absorb the vividness and extremity of the painting, as if waiting for someone to approach him.

No matter how others viewed Lu Pingfeng as an oddity, in Wen Yuchi’s eyes, he always had the freedom to be understood and accepted.

When Lu Pingfeng regained his senses, he found himself standing in front of Wen Yuchi.

For that moment, he couldn’t deny a certain illusion—he was willing to offer up his body, from flesh to bone, to this person who deconstructed death, just to keep Wen Yuchi’s gaze on him.

Because only Wen Yuchi could interpret him through the lens of death.

That was an irreplaceable romance.

Just then, Wen Yuchi’s phone rang, and he answered it.

“Hello, Professor? Where are you? Got it, I’ll be there in about half an hour.”

After hanging up, Wen Yuchi looked at Lu Pingfeng.

“You have to work overtime again, don’t you?”

“Sorry, this private art exhibit you prepared so carefully—I can only admire up to here,” Wen Yuchi said, though his face showed no real apology.

“I’ll drop you off then.”

“At this hour, the subway will be faster.”

With that, Wen Yuchi grabbed another muffin, eating it as he left the studio.

Once both of them were out of the frame, the crew signaled that the scene had wrapped.

A collective sigh of relief swept through the set, followed by growing chatter.

“They’re amazing, aren’t they? That was such a long scene. I thought they’d break it into multiple takes, but they went through the whole thing without missing a single line.”

“Gu Xiaowei’s micro-expressions and tone were especially worth savoring. He’s so calm yet distant, but every time he talks to Wen Yuchi, his face changes…”

“Like a cold, perfect statue coming to life?”

“Exactly! And Luo Yu’s performance really exceeded my expectations! Every time he looked at Lu Pingfeng, I felt this anticipation rising inside me!”

Meanwhile, watching from the side, Nie Yangchen wasn’t thinking about Gu Xiaowei’s impeccable expressions or lines. Instead, he recalled Luo Yu’s smile as he stood in front of the redback spider and looked back at Gu Xiaowei.

In front of him, death had lost its original mystery and intimidation, and life in his eyes seemed to pass like a fleeting moment.

With that smile, all things withered would bloom again.

Had Lu Pingfeng, as a painter, ever imagined building a prison of his own making? Had he ever been provoked by an uncontrollable desire to get closer?

This scene still required a few more close-up shots of the leads.

The previous chemistry was so good that the crew worried whether they could recapture that state for the close-ups.

The assistant director nervously glanced at Sheng Yunlan, fearing that Gu Xiaowei and Luo Yu’s stellar performance might not be replicable, leaving the perfectionist director stuck on this scene.

But to everyone’s surprise, when the close-up shots were filmed, the interactions between the two actors only deepened.

Their gazes and lines seemed to be pulled together by invisible threads, every glance appearing candid, yet upon closer inspection, brimming with meaning.

Each line felt like a response to the other’s innermost thoughts.

The more they filmed, the more addictive it became for Sheng Yunlan, almost like he wanted to capture the scene from every possible angle, like a dramatic kiss in a romance film.

Finally, the close-ups were completed, and the crew began setting up for the next scene.

At that moment, Luo Yu was reviewing his script, while Ye Shengyi was helping him fix his hair.

“Brother Luo, you were amazing just now! You and Brother Gu almost melted the room!”

“We’re not molten chocolate cake, no melting needed,” Luo Yu laughed as he closed his eyes.

“By the way, tonight at eight, ‘Counterattack’ is airing. Brother Luo, are you excited? You’re the character that sets the stage in the opening!”

Luo Yu’s heart skipped a beat—”Counterattack” was finally about to air.

It was his first role since his rebirth. Whether or not he could win the audience’s approval would be determined tonight.

Shows like “Counterattack”, with its serious tone, often didn’t grab viewers’ attention in the beginning. It wasn’t until later plot twists and character development that the viewership ratings steadily climbed.

However… with Gu Xiaowei around, the ratings for the first episode should be stable.

At this moment, Gu Xiaowei sat down on the small chair beside him, holding a thermos cup and carefully reading the script with his head lowered.

Luo Yu placed one hand on his shoulder. “Hey, ‘Counterattack’ is airing tonight. Want to watch it together when we get back?”

Gu Xiaowei responded, “Sure.”

His makeup artist, Ah Yan, overheard and looked surprised. “Ai, Brother Gu, didn’t you say you don’t watch your own shows while they’re airing? Something about it affecting your performance?”

“You’re afraid of that?” Luo Yu laughed, leaning closer to Gu Xiaowei to check his expression.

His wrist was suddenly grabbed, and Gu Xiaowei lifted his gaze. His face appeared gentle, but his eyes were slightly cold—this was Lu Pingfeng’s demeanor.

“Instead of worrying about my state, why not worry about your own—can you keep your performance steady enough to continue drawing me in during the next scene?”

Gu Xiaowei’s gaze didn’t exert pressure on Luo Yu; rather, it felt like another kind of… more indulgent permission.

In the film, Wen Yuchi was drawn to the painting of the red-backed spider, while in reality, Luo Yu was lured by Gu Xiaowei, who stood by the painting watching him.

Luo Yu controlled his breathing and emotions, wearing the casual indifference that belonged to Wen Yuchi on his face, while inside, he felt a restless stirring.

In each scene, Luo Yu could, through Wen Yuchi’s identity, do everything to Gu Xiaowei that he wouldn’t do or even think of doing in real life.

“Of course,” Luo Yu answered.

As the crew pushed a light-blocking screen between them, Luo Yu’s view was momentarily obscured.

What a pity, he didn’t get to see Gu Xiaowei’s reaction. Luo Yu rested his chin in his hand, watching as Gu Xiaowei turned to prepare for the next scene.

The upcoming scene featured the arrival of the collector’s secretary, Qin Lin, played by Nie Yangchen, who intended to purchase Lu Pingfeng’s painting of the red-backed spider.

The setting remained in Lu Pingfeng’s studio, with various painting tools and that small tea table still present. A three-tiered dessert tray sat atop the tea table.

During the private art exhibition that day, all the other paintings had been put away, leaving only the red-backed spider painting on display.

Most actors and crew not involved in this scene were asked to leave, but Luo Yu was granted a small privilege. He grabbed a little stool, hugged Gu Xiaowei’s thermos cup, and nestled beside Director Sheng Yunlan.

As they adjusted the lighting and camera angles, Sheng Yunlan chatted briefly with Luo Yu.

“That last scene was well done—more vivid than before. But remember, you’re Wen Yuchi. Your goal isn’t just to attract Lu Pingfeng, but to draw him across the boundary toward you. This means you need to get closer, so close that even you feel the danger,” Sheng Yunlan looked at Luo Yu, observing his expression, ensuring he understood.

Some suggestions were just that—suggestions. But a talented actor could grasp the director’s intent, the kind of relationship and effect they were aiming for.

Luo Yu nodded. In truth, he already felt the “danger.” Gu Xiaowei possessed a kind of composed and dignified charm. When he hinted for Luo Yu to lure him, it was also a deadly attraction for Luo Yu. So many people in the world desired to get a glimpse of Gu Xiaowei’s desires, yet he gave Luo Yu that privilege.

“Don’t be afraid of getting in too deep, or of not knowing how to deal with Gu Xiaowei after the filming is over and you’ve returned to reality.”

Luo Yu was stunned. He hadn’t expected Sheng Yunlan to see through his concerns after just two scenes.

“Acting can lie, but the eyes cannot. He’s used to drawing from you the feelings needed to become Lu Pingfeng. He treasures your scenes together. You need to trust that, whether before or after filming, you two will always be each other’s unique counterparts,” Sheng Yunlan’s voice was calm yet solemn.

You c an fi nd t he la te st cha pte rs at ( th e bl mu se . c o m )

It eased the small bit of unease in Luo Yu’s heart.

When he looked up, he saw Gu Xiaowei sitting by the easel, glancing sideways at him.

Luo Yu smiled, lifting his chin slightly and mouthing, “See you in the next scene.”

Gu Xiaowei lowered his head, a faint smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

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“You both grasped this initial encounter just right. Observing each other and piquing each other’s interest. Wen Yuchi isn’t looking at Lu Pingfeng’s painting but deconstructing the person himself. And Lu Pingfeng is also, for the first time, interested in a living person. This interest is no longer from a detached standpoint observing an ordinary person in the world of fame and fortune but a desire to enter the other’s life.”

You c an fi nd t he la te st cha pte rs at ( th e bl mu se . c o m )

After Sheng Yunlan finished speaking, Luo Yu touched his head, “Director Sheng, what you’re saying makes it seem like these two are about to fall in love!”

Sheng Yunlan replied with a smile, “Rather than love, it’s more like a kind of ‘desire.’”

It felt as if a small feather had brushed against the depths of his thoughts—itchy yet unscratchable.

“Lu Pingfeng is an artist, and ‘desire’ isn’t that artistic,” Luo Yu said, although his brows furrowed, clearly contemplating Sheng Yunlan’s words.

Because he knew that the “desire” Sheng Yunlan referred to was not merely about physical matters but something deeper and purer.

It was the kind of force capable of turning a person’s mindset from one extremity into another.

Sheng Yunlan lifted his chin, “Why don’t you two discuss and explore feelings? Each encounter between Lu Pingfeng and Wen Yuchi brings new understanding of each other. This kind of desire is more like a two-way excavation. People are born lonely, and when they meet someone who accepts their unconventional side, they start to hope and yearn for the other to understand them more—it’s like offering one’s spirit.”

“Alright, Luo Yu and I will take a walk nearby. The next scene should be the art studio’s exhibition, right? We’ll be back before the set is ready,” Gu Xiaowei said.

Sheng Yunlan nodded, “Go ahead.”

The two walked out with their scripts.

They didn’t go far and sat down by the outdoor table and chairs in the villa’s backyard.

“What do you think the director meant by ‘desire’?” Luo Yu leaned back in his wicker chair, and if it weren’t for maintaining his hairstyle, he would have scratched his head. He could only turn his face slightly towards Gu Xiaowei, “Lu Pingfeng’s desire is easy to understand—Wen Yuchi is the only living, breathing creature among all his interests, a variable, an infinite possibility.”

“Have you considered that this kind of desire might not be so noble? Wen Yuchi actively reached out to Lu Pingfeng, and the sensation of his fingers, the warmth of his palm was the first time Lu Pingfeng experienced it. It was a handshake without any interests attached, the ultimate that he adored—this admiration, as it continuously upgrades and becomes exclusive, makes Lu Pingfeng want more than just a handshake.”

Gu Xiaowei was sitting on the other chair, his hands properly placed on the script on the table, but Luo Yu had a sense of illusion that the other was infinitely approaching him.

“If Lu Pingfeng’s desire is the instinctual pursuit of life’s extremities, then Wen Yuchi’s is the same. What do you think—what is his instinct?” Gu Xiaowei asked.

Luo Yu realized that Gu Xiaowei’s eyes were not only deep but also had a mesmerizing power.

He wanted to appear unshaken, to not be swayed.

But upon reflection, why should he not be swayed?

Wen Yuchi seemed to stand on the other side of the boundary, but his persistence was never about clinging to principles.

Once he understood his goal, worldly rules could not confine him. So essentially, he and Lu Pingfeng were the same kind of person.

“Let’s assume that one day you developed a ‘desire’ for me, what would that desire be?” Gu Xiaowei’s voice sounded.

The voices of the staff, the sound of easels being tidied up, and even the breeze under the sunlight all faded away.

This assumption made Luo Yu feel as if something was breaking through the ground in his heart, like wild grass growing wildly. The more he tried to stay calm, the more uncontrollable his boundless imagination became.

“You’ve always been reluctant to think about it, haven’t you? Do you think such fantasizing is an offense to me?” Gu Xiaowei asked softly.

Luo Yu’s fingertips twitched, as if touched by electricity.

He was about to say, “Don’t you think it’s an offense?” but Gu Xiaowei said leisurely, “I allow you to fantasize anything about me.”

Like a kite pulled long and far, the other end fluttering high in the sky, wanting to indulge even if torn by the wind, while the string was tied to Luo Yu’s heart, making even his breath tangled in several loops.

—I allow you to fantasize anything about me.

Just such a simple remark made the string suddenly snap.

Luo Yu looked at Gu Xiaowei across from him. He had vaguely felt for a long time that everything about Gu Xiaowei could evoke his desires.

He remembered Gu Xiaowei watching him sword dance in the night wind, his figure shrouded in dim light, yet his gaze created a universe for Luo Yu, isolating all worldly shackles. Every time Luo Yu slashed his sword and looked back, Gu Xiaowei’s gaze felt like it was kissing the outline he left in this world.

The uncontrollable trembling of his heart attacked him again, and Luo Yu’s throat bobbed.

Gu Xiaowei stood up and patted Luo Yu on the shoulder, “Let’s go, it’s time to go in.”

Taking a deep breath, Luo Yu followed Gu Xiaowei back.

Was that remark just now spoken by Gu Xiaowei to Luo Yu, or by Lu Pingfeng to Wen Yuchi?

Luo Yu looked at Gu Xiaowei’s back and followed him back to the villa.

Today, their second scene is about to begin. The background of this scene is that forensic assistant Wen Yuchi returns to the police station and receives a gift from Lu Pingfeng.

After opening the package, Wen Yuchi found inside a specimen of a butterfly. After some research, he determined it to be a rare “Goddess of Light” butterfly, and the price of this specimen must be considerable.

Naturally, Wen Yuchi couldn’t accept such an expensive gift and had to return it to Lu Pingfeng. But just as he was about to leave, he coincidentally encountered a traffic case, and several bodies required him and his superior to work overtime, spending almost the entire week in the forensic office.

When Wen Yuchi finally took a breather and came out, he found himself receiving another package. The outer packaging was similar to the first gift sent by Lu Pingfeng—simple yet elegant. However, upon opening it, a foul stench spread out, causing nearby colleagues who were drinking coffee and writing reports to nearly vomit.

Because this time, the gift box contained dead mice and cockroaches, along with a card with words cut out from a newspaper: “Death kisses you in my place.”

For a while, news of Lu Pingfeng having antisocial personality disorder spread within the department, and even the news media were reporting it extensively.

Also on that day, Wen Yuchi received an invitation to Lu Pingfeng’s private art exhibition, with the address being his villa.

He reported this to Zhao Sichen. Zhao Sichen originally didn’t want him to go, but Wen Yuchi’s interest had already been piqued.

He told Zhao Sichen that this art exhibition was actually Lu Pingfeng’s way of giving him a reason to return the butterfly specimen. And no matter how arrogant Lu Pingfeng might be, he wouldn’t harm Wen Yuchi after sending him the invitation.

And this scene is Wen Yuchi’s arrival at Lu Pingfeng’s private art exhibition, with only the two of them in the scene.

The exhibition is located in Lu Pingfeng’s studio.

Luo Yu walked into the studio, which had been carefully rearranged by the staff—the previously messy easels had all been put away, and some non-saleable artworks were already hung on the walls.

A round tea table was placed in the center of the studio, with coffee and black tea already set out. The scent of paint mingled with the rich aroma of coffee and tea in the entire space. On the dining table were three-tiered pastry towers, meticulously baked Western pastries from the holiday mountain resort, each exquisitely detailed, with a ceremonial air.

There were only two chairs on either side of the dining table, clearly indicating that this private art exhibition was prepared for only one person.

Taking a deep breath, Luo Yu looked at Gu Xiaowei standing on the other side of the studio.

He had changed into another outer garment, with warmer colors, which softened his overall gloomy demeanor with a hint of vitality.

Leaning against the wall, he tilted his face slightly, his forehead just touching a frame containing two Australian redback spiders. The male spider used its body as bait to invite the female spider to eat it, just for that moment of pleasure, sacrificing its life.

The entire scene exuded a cruel yet intense tension.

A strand of hair fell from Gu Xiaowei’s forehead, brushing against his brows. He looked at Luo Yu, and while everyone might have thought his expression cold, Luo Yu saw that slight smile at the corner of his mouth… a smile meant only for him.

Something more fatal than the redback spider’s invitation.

Luo Yu closed his eyes, exhaled, and heard his own heartbeat, faster than usual, filled with indescribable anticipation and impulse, guided by Gu Xiaowei’s “desire,” viewing Lu Pingfeng from Wen Yuchi’s perspective.

When Lu Pingfeng first met Wen Yuchi, he noticed his hypoglycemia; he gave him the expensive butterfly specimen “Goddess of Light”; and even organized this private art exhibition for him.

All of this was to please.

The purpose of pleasing was to tempt.

Since you are tempting me, I can also tempt you.

Whoever sees the other person’s world first can step forward to find the truth they want.

So Wen Yuchi was also tempting Lu Pingfeng, leading him from the silent place of death to the other side of the boundary.

This kind of temptation made Lu Pingfeng’s withered soul turn towards vitality.

Luo Yu closed his eyes to organize and brew his emotions, adjusting his breathing and heartbeat.

Throughout the entire villa, the staff were still making final scene adjustments, adjusting the angle of the lights, and the shouting was incessant, but all the noise drifted far from Luo Yu’s mind. His heart grew quieter and quieter, like a whale sinking to the bottom of the sea, and Gu Xiaowei… was his everything.

When Luo Yu opened his eyes again and locked eyes with Gu Xiaowei across from him, he smiled faintly.

That smile made Gu Xiaowei feel a desire to approach him more quickly.

“Lu Pingfeng, Wen Yuchi, please take your places!” The loudspeaker sounded.

Gu Xiaowei walked towards the dining table and sat down in the position facing the door. His body relaxed, one hand hanging by the chair’s edge, the other resting on the armrest, devoid of the usual stiff impression, appearing very relaxed.

With the sound of the clapperboard, this scene began.

You c an fi nd t he la te st cha pte rs at ( th e bl mu se . c o m )

Wen Yuchi had just finished work, wearing casual clothes commonly seen on the streets, loose khaki pants, and white sneakers. Because of his tall figure, the hem of his casual shirt swayed gently as he approached Lu Pingfeng, exuding a naturally laid-back demeanor.

“Mr. Lu, your private art exhibition—is it only me as the guest?”

As he spoke, Wen Yuchi placed the gift box on the dining table. He didn’t deliberately greet Lu Pingfeng but instead looked around with his hands in his pockets.

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“Sure, it’s my turn for the next scene. Perfect for waking up.” Luo Yu touched his chin and looked sideways into Gu Xiaowei’s eyes. “This is the first encounter between Lu Pingfeng and Wen Yuchi in the film.”

Gu Xiaowei poured some coffee into the lid of his cup and handed it to Luo Yu, completely unconcerned about sharing his things with him.

You c an fi nd t he la te st cha pte rs at ( th e bl mu se . c o m )

“En, you must have used some really good coffee beans. The acidity is just right, with a hint of fruitiness.” Luo Yu savored the taste.

At this moment, the crew called out, “The second scene will begin in three minutes!”

Luo Yu downed the remaining coffee in one gulp and handed the cup lid back to Gu Xiaowei.

The two walked side by side toward the nearby studio.

Nie Yangchen watched Luo Yu’s back and squinted his eyes.

Interesting. With Gu Xiaowei’s acting skills, he could easily outshine any actor his age. But Hao Xiang, the top agent at Dijun Media, had said that Luo Yu had a presence that matched Gu Xiaowei’s.

Then let’s see if Luo Yu can hold his own in a scene with Gu Xiaowei.

The studio was organized in a chaotic but orderly manner, the air filled with the scent of paint. The wooden floors carried the lingering scent of grass and soil, with old paint stains still visible.

Rows of easels stood like dominoes, some half-finished paintings left to dry, a thin layer of dust covering the tops of the frames.

Some were covered with cloth. A curious police officer lifted one, revealing a desolate forest with gnarled branches that looked as if they could crumble at any moment.

Every painting held a gaze fixed upon death.

The second scene began filming.

In the center of the studio was a chair and an easel.

Wen Yuchi, played by Luo Yu, wore casual clothes, a few strands of hair sticking up as if he’d left in a hurry, yet his expression was calm and composed.

He slowly took a small aluminum flask from his pocket, unscrewed the lid, and took a sip, his gaze fixed intently on the painting in front of him. His eyes seemed to part the tangled grass, reaching deep into the earth.

Wen Yuchi embodied a paradox, exuding both indolence and meticulousness.

On the canvas before him was a dead nightingale, covered in moss, half of its body gnawed to the bone by ants.

A sense of decay and gloom seeped into the air from the painting.

Wen Yuchi’s gaze traced every line, every shadow on the canvas, deconstructing the painting with his eyes.

Lu Pingfeng walked up beside Wen Yuchi, first looking at the young man’s profile, then noticing his eyes.

Though he looked like a recent college graduate, his gaze was sharp and penetrating.

Lu Pingfeng saw the soft, fine hair on his cheek, the curve of his wrist as he held the metal flask, and the blade-like line of his jaw as he swallowed.

Gentle yet sharp.

“They all say death is my eternal theme,” Lu Pingfeng spoke.

The tone and voice sounded no different from earlier, but if you listened closely, you could detect a hint of provocation, perhaps curiosity, since Wen Yuchi seemed so different from the other officers.

The scrutiny in Wen Yuchi’s eyes gradually disappeared, replaced by a faint warmth, like the morning light on Lu Pingfeng’s profile.

“But what I see is life. The moss and ants survived because of this nightingale’s death. Just like a whale fall—when a whale falls, life blossoms.”

Lu Pingfeng raised his hand, stopping just beside Wen Yuchi’s ear. For a moment, he wanted to smooth down the unruly strands of hair, but perhaps because they weren’t familiar with each other, he let his hand drop and spoke as if chatting with an old friend. “You must really love life.”

Wen Yuchi turned his head, meeting Lu Pingfeng’s gaze.

“No, I love death. It is the ultimate form of life, the constant, the unchanging answer.” Wen Yuchi put the flask back in his pocket and extended his hand to Lu Pingfeng. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Lu. I’m Wen Yuchi, forensic assistant.”

Lu Pingfeng lowered his eyes, looking at Wen Yuchi’s long, pale fingers, the veins visible on the back of his hand. These clean hands, once gloved and wielding a scalpel, could cut open a lifeless body and reveal the words left unsaid by the deceased.

“Hello.” Lu Pingfeng shook Wen Yuchi’s hand.

At that moment, Captain Zhao Sicheng walked over, nodding in Wen Yuchi’s direction.

Lu Pingfeng was about to release Wen Yuchi’s hand, but Wen Yuchi subtly tightened his grip. Though the gesture felt somewhat forceful, his face remained calm and easygoing.

“Captain Zhao, there’s a luminol reaction in this studio,” Wen Yuchi announced, drawing everyone’s attention.

Including Lu Pingfeng’s. He looked down coldly at the hand holding his, thinking that perhaps this forensic assistant wasn’t so different from the others.

Zhao Sicheng’s expression immediately turned serious. “Where?”

“Hmm, the floor under the middle easel. If I’m not mistaken, the bloodstains are from two to three weeks ago.”

Which didn’t match the time of death for yesterday’s victim.

“How do you know?” Zhao Sicheng asked.

Luminol alone couldn’t determine how long the bloodstain had been there.

Wen Yuchi flipped over Lu Pingfeng’s hand, showing a fine cut on the side of his index finger. “Look, this must be from when Mr. Lu was sharpening a pencil and nicked his finger with the sharpener, am I right?”

Lu Pingfeng nodded slightly. “Yes.”

“Please be more careful next time,” Wen Yuchi said, looking into Lu Pingfeng’s eyes with a playful smile.

It seemed that Wen Yuchi had pointed out the luminol reaction just to tease Lu Pingfeng.

In that smile, Lu Pingfeng seemed to glimpse the true meaning of “when a whale falls, life blossoms.”

Wen Yuchi released Lu Pingfeng’s hand and walked toward Zhao Sicheng. “Captain, the studio doesn’t seem to have any issues for now. Do we need to check other parts of the villa?”

“Then you might need a search warrant, Captain Zhao,” Lu Pingfeng’s ethereal, cold voice had a hint of liveliness compared to before in the living room.

Zhao Sicheng gave a formal smile. “Thank you very much for your cooperation today, Mr. Lu. Sorry to have disturbed you.”

With that, Zhao Sicheng and Wen Yuchi left the studio side by side.

Wen Yuchi, with his hands in his pockets, leaned toward Zhao Sicheng and spoke with a bit of childishness in his tone, “He must think I wasn’t sincere when I shook his hand earlier, so he’s upset.”

“Are you ever sincere when you shake hands?” Zhao Sicheng snorted. “You just wanted to confirm the cut on his finger, didn’t you?”

“Hehe. How do you know everything, Captain?”

Just then, Lu Pingfeng’s voice sounded from behind them.

“Forensic Assistant Wen, have you finished your sugar water?”

Wen Yuchi paused for a moment. His recent medical checkup had revealed low blood sugar, so he carried a bottle of sugar water with him.

Thermoses and plastic bottles were too large, so the small aluminum flask he had bought online fit perfectly in his pocket. Ever since he started using it, his colleagues joked that Wen Yuchi was sipping vodka while performing autopsies.

Today was the first time he had met Lu Pingfeng, yet after just a few words, Lu Pingfeng had guessed that the flask contained sugar water.

“I’ll have Uncle He prepare some for you. It wouldn’t be good if your low blood sugar caused dizziness and affected your work on the way back.”

Lu Pingfeng’s voice was always polite and gentle, as if he was carefully observing an invisible boundary.

Wen Yuchi turned around and looked at him. Clearly, this was Lu Pingfeng’s response to Wen Yuchi’s handshake, confirming the cut on his finger.

—While you were observing me, I was also watching you.

“Forensic Assistant Wen, you’re treating me as a shortcut to solve this case. It may seem like a scenic route, but it won’t lead you to the answer you seek.”

Lu Pingfeng stood in the center of the studio, surrounded by layers of canvases. Though the high-pressure sodium lamps lit the ceiling and the solid floor was beneath him, in Wen Yuchi’s eyes, it felt like a turbulent rainy night, with overlapping clouds about to break free from the sky.

Wen Yuchi dropped his carefree and lazy demeanor, his gaze turning serious.

This silence left Zhao Sicheng at a loss for words.

But just as the atmosphere reached its lowest point, Wen Yuchi smiled lightly. 

At that moment, it was as if a barely visible spark had fallen into the overgrown ruins of the old city, igniting a blaze that quickly burned everything to a faded hue. Yet, that fleeting smile from Wen Yuchi remained on the other side of the boundary. No matter how things deteriorated, he remained vibrant and full of life.

“This path, even if it doesn’t lead to the answer I want, can still lead to you.”

With that, Wen Yuchi took out the empty aluminum flask from his pocket and gave it a gentle shake. 

After a few seconds of waiting, the sound of “cut” finally came.

The staff then realized—the scene had ended?

The final exchanged glances at the end of the scene were neither confrontational nor probing but conveyed an indescribable sense of destiny.

Sheng Yunlan slightly lifted his chin, staring at the screen, and sighed in admiration—indeed, if Gu Xiaowei was the chosen one for portraying Lu Pingfeng, then Luo Yu was the irreplaceable Wen Yuchi. Without either of them, the final moment of this scene wouldn’t have had the same effect.

The sense of fate in their gazes could not be achieved through post-production.

Luo Yu flashed Gu Xiaowei a broad smile and tilted his chin, “Let’s go and check the shooting results.”

Gu Xiaowei stood in place, still seeing Wen Yuchi’s smile, as if the tide that had surged toward him had suddenly receded, taking with it his breath and heartbeat as it withdrew.

“Teacher Gu, your thermos cup.” A staff member holding Gu Xiaowei’s thermos approached him.

“Thank you.” Gu Xiaowei nodded lightly and then stepped forward to catch up with Luo Yu.

Nie Yangchen, who had watched the scene from the sidelines, was unsure how to describe his current feelings.

He thought he had a realistic understanding of acting, that many things could not be achieved through lines, expressions, and body movements.

But Gu Xiaowei had used his aura to create a powerful atmosphere, drawing the onlookers into his world.

Just when Nie Yangchen thought this was the closest to an ideal level of acting, Luo Yu refreshed his perception once more.

In the previous performance, Luo Yu did not use any deliberate confrontational tone or gaze with Gu Xiaowei, yet he possessed a kind of inclusiveness. He was not resisting Gu Xiaowei’s aura but rather subtly integrating and blending with it.

In Luo Yu, there was no sense of a “savior’s” halo, yet that final smile made everyone understand that even if Lu Pingfeng was in a dire state, Wen Yuchi would be the remedy for him.

Luo Yu moved closer to the monitor and asked the director, “Director Sheng, how was the result of the shot just now?”

Sheng Yunlan sighed, “If you and Gu Xiaowei maintain this level of performance, we might not stay in this resort for long.”

“That wouldn’t do. I actually quite like this place. The longer we stay, the better,” Luo Yu joked.

Gu Xiaowei stood at a not too far but not too near distance, and Luo Yu waved him over, “What are you dawdling for? Don’t you want to see how your performance was?”

After a couple of seconds, Gu Xiaowei walked over to Luo Yu, bending down to look at the screen.

“Tsk, look at your expression in this scene. I’m wondering if I could perform Lu Pingfeng to your level.”

Luo Yu turned his face and noticed that Gu Xiaowei was not looking at the monitor but at him.

Despite having a clear and cold gaze, it was as if his eyes were blooming like a queen of the night under the blazing sun—regardless of the heat or decay, they only sought to reveal the hidden secrets deep within the flesh and bones.

“Gu…”

“Watch the scene, not me,” Gu Xiaowei said.

You c an fi nd t he la te st cha pte rs at ( th e bl mu se . c o m )

Luo Yu felt like he was caught daydreaming in class, his ears subtly turning red.

But then he realized, no, it was actually Gu Xiaowei who was watching him first.

Sheng Yunlan’s comments on their performance pulled Luo Yu out of his embarrassment.

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