The next scene was the first appearance of Nie Yangchen, who played Qin Lin, the secretary to the collector.

He wore a tailored suit, looking professional and patient, with a tall and handsome figure that was very photogenic.

Qin Lin stood at the door of the studio and gently knocked, “Mr. Lu, I’m Qin Lin. I’m here on behalf of Mr. Zhuang to discuss… the Redback Spider painting.”

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

After speaking, Qin Lin glanced at the small dining table in the studio, noticing the snacks placed on it, and the chairs arranged around the table hinted that Lu Pingfeng was expecting someone.

Lu Pingfeng sat before an easel, his eyes focused on the canvas. If not for the faint sound of his pencil on the canvas, one might mistake him for a marble statue.

Qin Lin patiently waited at the door, as if he could stand there for an eternity unless Lu Pingfeng explicitly allowed him to enter.

After who knows how long, Uncle He walked over with some hot tea. Passing by Qin Lin, he smiled apologetically, “I’m sorry, sir is really in the mood to paint today.”

Qin Lin nodded good-naturedly. “It’s my bad timing. But with Mr. Zhuang’s instructions, I have no choice but to wait.”

On the floor to Lu Pingfeng’s right was a teacup, placed just within arm’s reach when he turned slightly.

Uncle He bent down and refilled Lu Pingfeng’s tea.

As Uncle He left the studio, Qin Lin curiously asked, “Uncle He, is Mr. Lu expecting a guest today?”

“The guest might come, or might not,” Uncle He smiled slightly before walking out.

“But Mr. Lu seems well-prepared, which suggests he hopes they’ll come,” Qin Lin said with a smile.

This guest, who had Lu Pingfeng waiting so patiently, piqued Qin Lin’s curiosity.

Finally, the silent Lu Pingfeng spoke. “Please tell Mr. Zhuang that I won’t be selling that painting.”

Qin Lin took a step forward. Although he was being refused, his expression remained courteous. “Mr. Lu, may I come in?”

“You may.”

With permission granted, Qin Lin walked behind Lu Pingfeng and looked at his canvas. He took out a monocle from his suit pocket and admired it for a few seconds. “A butterfly?”

“Yes.”

“But this butterfly is intact, it doesn’t look dead.” Qin Lin squinted his eyes and bent down. The more he looked, the more he felt the butterfly’s unmatched beauty. It seemed ready to flap its wings and fly off the canvas, scattering a layer of glittering wing dust.

“Because I’m copying a butterfly specimen,” Lu Pingfeng replied.

“Copying a butterfly specimen?” Qin Lin was puzzled.

“I gave a friend a butterfly specimen, but they thought it was too valuable and returned it to me.”

Hearing this, Qin Lin laughed. “But your copied butterfly specimen is probably more valuable than the original.”

Lu Pingfeng said calmly, “The value of the butterfly specimen is determined by its rarity. The rarer something is, the more valuable it becomes. But the value of my painting is decided by you. If someone wants to collect it, it’s valuable. If no one cares about it, it’s just waste paper and trash.”

“Then let’s talk about this Redback Spider painting. Mr. Zhuang likes it very much and wants to collect it, which makes it valuable now.” Qin Lin lowered his head, standing by Lu Pingfeng’s side, and looked directly into his eyes.

Lu Pingfeng remained calm, devoid of any human desire, cold and empty.

Except for the three-tiered dessert tray on the nearby dining table, the act of “waiting” seemed to grant Lu Pingfeng some human emotions.

“Secretary Qin, would Mr. Zhuang send someone a dead rat, cockroach, or spider as a gift?”

Lu Pingfeng turned to look at Qin Lin, and the indifference in his eyes was different from usual, carrying a sharp scrutiny. Qin Lin’s mind went blank, as if his nerves had been cut.

After a few seconds of silence, Nie Yangchen, who played Qin Lin, clasped his hands together and bowed to everyone in apology. “Sorry, my mistake!”

The surrounding crew, who had been quiet, finally started moving. The lighting technicians exhaled and lowered the reflectors slightly. The cameraman leaned back and stretched his shoulders.

No one was upset, as the aura Gu Xiaowei had just emitted seemed to freeze the air. It was understandable that Nie Yangchen had lost his rhythm because of him.

Sheng Yunlan nodded and raised his hand, indicating, “Start again from Lu Pingfeng’s line, ‘rat, cockroach, or spider.’”

Nie Yangchen took a deep breath and returned to his original position.

As the word “Action” was called, Gu Xiaowei quickly got into character, raising his head again, and the sharpness in his eyes made hearts skip a beat.

“Secretary Qin, would Mr. Zhuang send someone a dead rat, cockroach, or spider as a gift?”

“Those things have no aesthetic value. Mr. Zhuang wouldn’t give them as gifts.”

After delivering the lines, Nie Yangchen felt something was missing.

Sure enough, Sheng Yunlan cleared his throat and gestured for Nie Yangchen to come over.

Luo Yu stood up and stepped aside, giving his stool to Nie Yangchen.

“You’re playing Qin Lin, right? To be the trusted secretary and spokesperson for a major collector, what kind of person do you think he would be?” Sheng Yunlan asked.

Nie Yangchen replied, “Someone who appears gentle but is deeply scheming.”

“Exactly. And Lu Pingfeng, the great painter, is someone who sees through everything but doesn’t reveal it, preferring to observe human nature from a higher vantage point. So when he’s probing whether you’re the kind of fan who would send dead rats or cockroaches to Wen Yuchi, what’s your mindset?” Sheng Yunlan asked again.

“Curious. It’s strange that Lu Pingfeng would ask about something unrelated to the painting. He never cares about who collects his work, but this time he asked about Mr. Zhuang, so Qin Lin should feel intrigued.”

“And with that curiosity, what kind of expression would you have towards Lu Pingfeng?” Sheng Yunlan continued to guide him.

Nie Yangchen raised his hand and covered his face, trying to recall Gu Xiaowei’s earlier gaze. Like a deep, cold pond, the more he probed, the less he knew how to react.

“I might need to organize my emotions…” Nie Yangchen lowered his head in thought, feeling unsure.

“It’s fine. You and Gu Xiaowei aren’t that familiar yet. It’s natural to feel uneasy under the influence of his acting.” Sheng Yunlan looked at Luo Yu. “Xiao Luo, why don’t you give it a try? See how you would explore Lu Pingfeng from Qin Lin’s perspective. Interested?”

“Well…I am interested. Let me think it over.”

Luo Yu touched his nose and frowned. If he was going to act, he couldn’t use Wen Yuchi’s style.

Nie Yangchen didn’t mind that the director was letting Luo Yu try out Qin Lin. He didn’t take it as an insult to his abilities, but saw it as an opportunity. After all, Luo Yu was clearly more familiar with Gu Xiaowei, and their chemistry could provide useful insights for Nie Yangchen.

Luo Yu took a deep breath, walked to Gu Xiaowei’s side, and gave the director and Nie Yangchen an OK gesture.

“The director wants me to try out Qin Lin.”

Gu Xiaowei raised his eyelids and glanced at Luo Yu. The cold, unapproachable expression he had a moment ago now carried a hint of teasing. “You? Play Qin Lin?”

“What, afraid you’ll slip up and treat me like Wen Yuchi?” Luo Yu squatted down, resting his chin on one hand, looking up at Gu Xiaowei.

Gu Xiaowei used the end of his paintbrush to gently brush away the fringe on Luo Yu’s forehead. “Whoever you play, I’ll treat you as whoever you are.”

The meaning was clear—whether Gu Xiaowei would slip up depended on Luo Yu’s acting.

The surrounding cast and crew were filled with anticipation and excitement at the thought of seeing Gu Xiaowei and Luo Yu performing together again, especially since they were playing different characters this time.

Nie Yangchen became curious as well; every actor needs emotional preparation to step into a specific role. Without a doubt, Luo Yu’s portrayal of Wen Yuchi was profound, but could he really transition from the emotions of Wen Yuchi to the completely different persona of the collector’s secretary, Qin Lin, in just a few minutes?

Luo Yu turned his face to cough, and when he turned back, his expression had changed, calm and composed, with a smile that conveyed a delightful sense of balance.

Gu Xiaowei’s gaze did not soften because he was facing Luo Yu; instead, the icy edge of his demeanor became even more pronounced.

“Secretary Qin, would Mr. Zhuang send a dead rat, cockroach, or spider as a gift?”

Luo Yu did not answer immediately but shared a smile with Gu Xiaowei, as if the other’s gaze could not penetrate his thoughts, yet he could see into Gu Xiaowei’s eyes.

The smile on Luo Yu’s lips subtly faded, becoming more serious than before.

“These things have no aesthetic value,” Luo Yu paused for a moment, straightening up, but his gaze remained locked onto Gu Xiaowei’s, “Mr. Zhuang would not send them as gifts.”

The latter half of his sentence was spoken softly, as if to soothe the other’s emotions, with a pleasing smoothness in his eyes.

This kind of eye contact was unique and subtle; countless actors had failed to reveal such expressions in front of Gu Xiaowei before.

It was like satin brushing against his body—when he tried to grasp it, all he held was air.

This was the dexterous, perceptive collector’s secretary, Qin Lin, who excelled at reading the room and dismantling the defenses of others.

Luo Yu looked at Sheng Yunlan and Nie Yangchen. “My performance is over; you can see if there are any aspects worth referencing.”

At this point, Nie Yangchen finally understood that Luo Yu’s acting skills were not just a matter of detail but also of the communication in their gazes.

Luo Yu’s eyes were filled with drama, almost a silent language. What he conveyed was not the emotions of joy, anger, or sorrow, but a connection.

Even an actor as closed off as Gu Xiaowei could connect with him.

Sheng Yunlan did not comment on whether Luo Yu’s performance was good or bad but told Nie Yangchen, “You don’t need to replicate Luo Yu’s performance; my goal is to help you understand what you’re lacking. Because aside from Wen Yuchi, your Qin Lin is the character who interacts the most with Lu Pingfeng. You cannot avoid Lu Pingfeng’s gaze; instead, you need to look into it. Even if you cannot resonate with Lu Pingfeng’s spirit like Wen Yuchi, you should still have the curiosity to glimpse into Lu Pingfeng’s world.”

Nie Yangchen frowned, seeming to grasp Sheng Yunlan’s meaning better.

“I think I can try again,” Nie Yangchen said, looking at Gu Xiaowei. “Teacher Gu, could I trouble you to perform the last segment with me again?”

Gu Xiaowei nodded.

Another cycle began. The crew immediately got into position as Director Sheng observed the actors’ performances through the monitor.

The scene returned to the studio, where Lu Pingfeng sat at an easel painting a butterfly, while Qin Lin bent over beside him.

“Secretary Qin, would Mr. Zhuang send a dead rat, cockroach, or spider as a gift?”

Lu Pingfeng’s gaze swept over, as if to stir the waters of Qin Lin’s heart, capturing his fleeting moment of insecurity.

However, Qin Lin seemed to drop a heavy anchor, stabilizing his emotions, even pondering why Lu Pingfeng would ask such questions—could it be related to the person he was waiting for?

Until he realized that Lu Pingfeng was well-guarded in his emotions, still revealing nothing. He smiled regretfully and said calmly, “These things have no aesthetic value. Mr. Zhuang would not send them as gifts.”

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

Sitting at the monitor with his chin propped up, Luo Yu narrowed his eyes and murmured, “This guy’s comprehension is pretty sharp.”

“He’s just more open than you,” Sheng Yunlan glanced over at him, tapping his head. “I’m guessing, if Lu Pingfeng were not being played by Gu Xiaowei, you probably wouldn’t be so restrained.”

That feeling of having the most hidden part of his heart exposed by the other made Luo Yu’s ears heat up. 

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“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.

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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.”

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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.

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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.

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“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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But Luo Yu realized that this person was himself.

The perspective of the painting was of Gu Xiaowei covering his mouth, restraining him, holding him tightly, hidden in the shadows of the roses, observing him.

A kind of unprecedented heat surged through Luo Yu’s vision and into his brain, as if it was about to draw out all the impulses he had never noticed within himself.

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His breathing knotted in his throat, stuck halfway, and for a moment, Luo Yu had the urge to go to the room across, kick open the door, grab the other person by the collar, and confront him with fierce eyes, demanding, “What exactly were you thinking when you drew this?”

But there was no need to go over; Luo Yu could already imagine Gu Xiaowei’s answer.

He would tilt his head, look at him with his deep eyes, and the calmer his gaze, the more obsessive it would become.

—”Of course, I was thinking of you.”

Luo Yu took a deep breath, opened the drawer, and put the drawing away.

After drying his hair and lying in bed, Luo Yu turned on his side. He was sure his heartbeat was a bit faster than usual.

The night had already grown deep. Apart from the distant sound of insects chirping outside the window, everything was so quiet that it felt unreal.

Yet the quieter it was, the more he felt bewitched, as if under a spell. He reached out, opened the drawer, and pulled the paper out again.

He didn’t turn on the light, but in this dim light, looking at the drawing gave him a different feeling.

His hair, his eyelashes were depicted delicately and softly, and in his lowered eyes, there seemed to be an infinite lake rippling. It was beautiful, like a rose blooming in the thorny thicket of the deep night, making one want to hide him layer upon layer, away from the stings of the world’s thorns.

Luo Yu’s fingers brushed the strokes on the paper. This was drawn by Gu Xiaowei while he was taking a bath, done only in a matter of minutes.

He must have observed him very carefully; his every movement, even the angle of his neck or the lowering of his eyes, had been captured in Gu Xiaowei’s gaze. Otherwise, how could he have remembered what he looked like at that moment?

Luo Yu didn’t know what this strange feeling was. He didn’t find Gu Xiaowei scary. On the contrary, there was a sense of pride in occupying the other’s gaze, and even… he wanted to occupy his entire world.

“Hah…” Luo Yu covered his eyes.

Did Wen Yuchi also have similar thoughts about Lu Pingfeng?

This movie… is driving him mad.

When the alarm went off the next morning, Luo Yu rubbed his eyes and heard the cheerful chirping of birds outside the window. Only then did he remember he wasn’t in his apartment but at a resort where the film crew was staying.

He stretched and got out of bed, and the first thing he did was head to the bathroom.

As soon as he opened the door, he bumped into Gu Xiaowei.

“Morning,” Luo Yu raised his hand in greeting.

In the morning, Gu Xiaowei’s voice was very gentle. “Morning. Are you headed to the bathroom?”

“Yeah.”

“Go ahead then.”

The bathroom was separated into wet and dry areas, so Luo Yu could close the frosted glass door while using the toilet, and Gu Xiaowei was washing up outside.

“I didn’t realize you’re so good at drawing. It doesn’t seem like something you learned in just a few weeks,” Luo Yu said, trying to cover the sound of his business.

“When we were kids, didn’t our parents make us learn some sort of skill? Like calligraphy, piano, or painting,” Gu Xiaowei replied.

Luo Yu opened the door and, while washing his hands, asked, “How long did you learn?”

“From elementary school until middle school. Later, my parents thought I wasn’t going to pursue an artistic career, so they told me to focus on academics instead.”

“That’s such a shame. You’re really good at it.”

Gu Xiaowei dried his face, standing to the side while Luo Yu brushed his teeth. “Do you like it?”

Even though he wasn’t standing close, Luo Yu could feel Gu Xiaowei’s presence, like a cold pine tree on a cliff, where a breeze could cause frost and snow crystals to fall.

“I do.” Luo Yu, though with his head still lowered, turned his face slightly to look at him.

Wen Yuchi would never say something he didn’t mean to Lu Pingfeng, and Luo Yu would be just as honest with Gu Xiaowei.

I like your drawing.

I enjoy being the focus of your attention.

Gu Xiaowei stood there, seemingly surprised that Luo Yu had so directly said he liked it.

It was as if the expectation that Luo Yu would avoid or reject him had been let down, but another, more intense desire surged within him.

With his eyes closed, Luo Yu stretched out his hand to grab a face towel, but after fumbling around for a while, he still couldn’t find the box.

Gu Xiaowei pulled one out for him and placed it in his hand.

“Thanks.”

After drying his face, Luo Yu looked up at Gu Xiaowei and lightly tapped his chest.

“If you draw for someone else, I might get jealous.”

With that, Luo Yu walked out the door.

From downstairs, Ye Shengyi’s voice came: “Brother Luo! The crew sent over breakfast! After breakfast, it’s time for makeup!”

“Alright, coming!”

After a while, Gu Xiaowei, who was still standing in the same spot, lifted a hand to cover the spot where Luo Yu had tapped him. His fingers slowly tightened, and the fabric wrinkled into the shape of a rose.

The crew’s breakfast was delivered by the resort’s staff, a test run for the service they’d later offer guests.

“Wow—this breakfast spread is so rich! There’s Chinese and Western options!” Ye Shengyi excitedly exclaimed.

Luo Yu sat down too. “We probably won’t get this kind of treatment again.”

Gu Xiaowei pulled out the chair next to Luo Yu and sat down. He didn’t eat much.

Luo Yu knew it was because he didn’t want to eat too much and risk affecting his performance, and although Luo Yu also wanted to indulge himself, sitting next to such a disciplined person made him put down the extra dim sum he had wanted to eat.

To his surprise, Gu Xiaowei picked it up and placed it on Luo Yu’s plate, softly saying, “Eat it.”

“I’ve already eaten a lot. And I haven’t been exercising much lately.”

“When Director Sheng is in the zone, he can shoot for an entire day without eating or drinking.”

Luo Yu propped his chopsticks and looked at him, “What about you? Why don’t you eat more?”

Gu Xiaowei replied, “I need to lose a little more weight. Otherwise, I won’t look sickly enough.”

Luo Yu knew it was the director’s request but still felt a little distressed for him.

“Then I won’t eat either…”

The next second, Gu Xiaowei stuffed the dim sum into Luo Yu’s mouth.

“Eat. This is the resort’s test-run breakfast. They might not maintain this level of service later.”

In other words, if you like it, eat more while you can.

After breakfast, they arrived at the villa where the first scene would be filmed.

Sheng Yunlan glanced at all the actors’ makeup, and he was most satisfied with Luo Yu’s.

“The makeup isn’t too strong, but it highlights your features well. Your makeup artist is good.”

Hearing Sheng Yunlan’s praise, Ye Shengyi proudly smoothed his hair; purple luck was not just an empty reputation.

The next moment, Luo Yu roughly ruffled at his hair.

The villa had been redecorated to meet the needs of filming.

It was said that the decor wouldn’t be taken down afterward and would remain as a tourist attraction at the resort.

Inside the villa, the cameras were already set up. Due to limited space, unrelated staff were asked to leave.

When reading the script, Luo Yu had guessed from Lu Pingfeng’s character that his house wouldn’t feel very lived-in. But when he stepped into the villa for the first time, he felt no trace of warmth. For example, the silver-gray sofa was high-quality but lacking any cushions or throw pillows.

The tempered glass coffee table was empty, so clear you could see the bottom. Not a speck of dust or a single magazine was in sight.

And on the surrounding walls hung piano-black frames, but instead of paintings, they held photographs.

A stag with its throat bitten, withered flowers growing from cracks in a ruined wall under the scorching sun, the wrinkled, dying face of an old man…

All in black and white, leaving one feeling gloomy.

Even the light from the crystal chandelier overhead was cold, making the whole space seem lifeless.

The first scene to be shot here was the one where Yan Jun, playing Captain Zhao Sicheng, leads a team to meet the famous painter Lu Pingfeng.

The director called for the lights to be turned off, plunging the space into darkness. The empty coffee table, like an altar, waited in the cold for its sacrifice.

It wasn’t time for Luo Yu to appear yet. He stood outside, holding his script in his left hand and a thermos in his right.

The actors were getting into position. Gu Xiaowei, dressed in a black sweater and casual pants, walked to the sofa and sat down.

His face was gloomy and cold, and his deep eyes exuded a mysterious aura, like a rose blooming in the dark night, untouched by the moonlight.

“Teacher Gu really suits this kind of morbid yet elegant role.”

Luo Yu turned his face and saw Nie Yangchen standing right beside him, gazing at Gu Xiaowei.

“What suits him is a role that appears morbid and elegant, but is actually wild and intense. Like poison, yet can also be redemption,” Luo Yu said calmly.

Nie Yangchen frowned, dismissively saying, “But in the script, Lu Pingfeng is the one being redeemed.”

Luo Yu lifted his chin slightly, “Wait until the director adjusts the lighting, then you’ll understand.”

The staff on set approached the window of the villa and pulled back the heavy curtains. Bright morning light immediately angled into the space, softening the eerie photography works with a gentle glow.

Sitting on the sofa was Gu Xiaowei, half of his face bathed in sunlight, with dust particles dancing like scattered diamonds in the air. His eyelashes were long, interwoven with the shadows on his eyelids, like wild sunflowers growing freely.

The other half of his face was submerged in shadow, like an unknown deity of the underworld, drawing in followers who would lose themselves to him in despair.

Nie Yangchen was stunned. This was probably what Luo Yu meant by both poison and redemption.

—Gu Xiaowei naturally exuded an aura that commanded worship.

Once the script supervisor confirmed that Yan Jun was in position, the clapperboard was struck, and everyone on set felt a jolt in their hearts. The first scene of the film officially began.

Yan Jun, who played Zhao Sicheng, the captain of the criminal police force, arrived in a sharp uniform, followed by two officers, and stood in front of Lu Pingfeng.

The butler spoke, “Sir, this is Captain Zhao Sicheng from the criminal police force. They’re here to ask you about… the murder case that caused quite a stir online yesterday.”

Lu Pingfeng turned to look at Zhao Sicheng, his lips curving into a perfectly calculated arc, and his entire demeanor softened.

He stood up and gestured for Zhao Sicheng to sit on the sofa opposite him. As his palm turned upward and his wrist emerged from his sleeve, there was a crisp, sharp line that unconsciously drew everyone’s gaze.

“Hello, Captain Zhao. I’m sorry, I don’t follow online news, so I’m not sure which murder case you’re referring to.”

His voice was like ice crushed in a glass, cold and distant, yet because of its soft and gentle tone, it gave off a cultured impression.

Zhao Sicheng and his team sat down, displaying an objective, business-like demeanor.

Meanwhile, one of his officers opened a notebook and took out a pen, ready to record.

The butler brought a tray over, placing several cups of tea on the coffee table. As the warm steam swirled upwards, the living room finally gained a hint of warmth.

“A murder occurred yesterday afternoon. The arrangement of the victim’s body happened to resemble one of your paintings. According to procedure, we need to ask you some questions.”

Lu Pingfeng’s face showed no signs of surprise, nor did he display sympathy or regret. He didn’t even bother to feign such expressions; instead, he calmly asked, “Which painting?”

“‘Mayfly.'”

“Ah. That was a piece I created a long time ago.” Lu Pingfeng’s expression remained serene, the part of him illuminated by the morning light resembling an angelic statue in a cathedral, possessing a pure and tranquil beauty.

However, when he lowered his head and smiled faintly, there was a hint of cold irony in the curve of his lips.

“Perhaps the killer is one of your crazed fans or a blind follower, someone who seeks to deeply understand the meaning behind your work, your creative intentions. They might have sent you letters, expressing their admiration in various ways. Do you recall any fans or collectors like that?” Zhao Sicheng asked.

Lu Pingfeng smiled and shook his head. It was clearly a polite smile, yet it didn’t come across as false; in fact, there was a kind of transcendent vitality to it.

“Most people only see the mayfly’s brief life, pitying its short existence. But how many can live like a mayfly, using their entire life to reproduce? Even if it’s driven by instinct, it burns its life away madly—for the sake of continuation, to live and die for it.”

One of Lu Pingfeng’s hands rested on his knee, while the other picked up a teacup and saucer, handing it to Zhao Sicheng. It was a gesture of courteous temptation; if you follow him into the abyss, you’ll see the most fundamental truths.

“Thank you.” Zhao Sicheng’s throat moved as he accepted the tea.

Lu Pingfeng smiled lightly, a restrained expression, yet it hinted at an unruly defiance.

“If that person truly understood the meaning of ‘Mayfly,’ they wouldn’t have used it to stage a murder scene.” Lu Pingfeng said.

Zhao Sicheng took a sip of tea and asked, “May I ask where you were yesterday afternoon between 2:00 and 4:00?”

This question was as direct as labeling Lu Pingfeng a suspect.

Lu Pingfeng didn’t rush to explain, nor did he protest the police’s suspicions. He simply answered calmly, “I was in my studio.”

“Can anyone vouch for you?”

Lu Pingfeng looked at the butler next to him, “Uncle He can vouch for me.”

“Ah, yes. Housekeeper Qin was also cleaning at the time, and she saw Sir,” Uncle He said.

“Please leave Ms. Qin’s contact information with us. Besides the housekeeper and cleaning staff, is there anyone else who can verify your whereabouts?”

Lu Pingfeng lifted his chin, his gaze landing on the surveillance camera on the ceiling.

“My agent suggested I install cameras in my home after a sketch was stolen from my studio.”

“We’d like to review the footage from that afternoon, if possible. Also, may we take a look at your studio?”

“Of course.” Lu Pingfeng stood up, “After all, if I refused, Captain Zhao might show up next time with a search warrant.”

A few seconds later, the sound of “cut” rang out, and the first scene wrapped smoothly without any significant hiccups.

Sitting in front of the monitor, Sheng Yunlan folded his arms and nodded, his eyes narrowed.

The crew members watching were all in awe of Gu Xiaowei’s acting. If they hadn’t been present on set, they wouldn’t have been able to feel the intensity of his commanding presence.

Nie Yangchen, watching from the side, was surprised.

Many had sung Gu Xiaowei’s praises for his acting, but Nie Yangchen had always thought it was three parts post-production, and another three parts the cinematography.

But in just this short scene, every glance, even the subtle angle of Gu Xiaowei’s cold yet courteous smile, seemed as though it had been rehearsed thousands of times, presented in the most perfect way.

Nie Yangchen couldn’t help but imagine himself in Gu Xiaowei’s place. How would he portray Lu Pingfeng? The more he thought about it, the more a chill and inexplicable fear rose in his heart. How could anyone really bring such a Lu Pingfeng to life?

Gentle, yet complex, and as cold as purity.

Gu Xiaowei left the sofa and walked toward Luo Yu.

He stepped out of the morning light streaming through the window, his entire being exuding a cold detachment from all things.

But as Luo Yu extended a thermos toward him, the closer Gu Xiaowei came, the more warmth seemed to envelop him, until the cold dissolved and he stood in front of Luo Yu.

He took the thermos, unscrewed the lid, and poured some coffee into the cup lid, taking two sips.

The rich aroma spread between the two of them.

“Smells good. Did you grind it yourself?” Luo Yu asked with a smile.

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

Everyone on set instinctively kept their distance from Gu Xiaowei, allowing him to fully immerse in the role of Lu Pingfeng. But Luo Yu was the only one who chatted with him as if he were still Gu Xiaowei.

“Mm. Do you want some?” Gu Xiaowei asked.

Even his voice had softened, as if it could melt a hole in someone’s heart, sending warm steam into that cavity, wrapping around their every breath.

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Gu Xiaowei obediently leaned into Luo Yu’s embrace, murmuring, “But in the script, Wen Yuchi never hugged Lu Pingfeng. How would he know what Wen Yuchi’s breath and heartbeat felt like?”

Luo Yu laughed and let go of Gu Xiaowei, turning around to keep walking. As he walked, he tapped his forehead with his fingers. “Maybe Lu Pingfeng imagined it? Sometimes, imagination is far more enchanting than reality. The more you imagine, the more reluctant you are to let go.”

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

Gu Xiaowei lowered his gaze, his faint smile like a crack that allowed moonlight to spill in. “Maybe he imagined more than just breathing and heartbeats.”

“What?” Luo Yu turned back to look at him.

In that moment, he seemed like a fawn lost in the deep forest, looking back into the dense woods, his eyes full of life, the only light—waiting to be captured.

Gu Xiaowei’s lips barely curved, offering a gentle yet calm smile. “Nothing.”

When Luo Yu turned around, a thin frost covered Gu Xiaowei’s eyes, as if endless darkness was spreading silently and carefully from behind him, chasing after Luo Yu’s figure.

They kept walking forward until they reached a vast expanse of climbing roses. The roses spread along the trellis, forming a winding corridor. Their branches cascaded down like a vast sea, hiding the sky. Moonlight fell directly on them, casting mysterious shadows on the buds, as if they were the hands of a siren, while the blooms facing the moon were bold and passionate.

Light and dark intertwined, with hidden temptation and overt exuberance tangled together.

Luo Yu had never seen such a sight; it was far more spectacular than when viewed from the window.

Under the spinning trellis, there were dark shadows, with only a few stars falling through the gaps, forming tiny specks of light on the ground.

Luo Yu walked inside, and Gu Xiaowei silently followed behind him.

Once inside, you couldn’t see anything, but in the dark and quiet, Luo Yu could hear Gu Xiaowei’s footsteps more clearly. His silence made Luo Yu feel an invisible force constantly hovering over him.

Ahead, they reached the center of the rose corridor. There was a large fountain, in a Western style, but it wasn’t running, and the European statues surrounding it stood in various poses under the unfiltered moonlight, as if reaching for something in the void.

Luo Yu vaguely heard a strange sound, as if someone was leaning against the statue opposite the fountain.

Just as he was about to move closer, a hand reached from behind, covering his mouth. A familiar and distinctive scent filled Luo Yu’s nose.

It was Gu Xiaowei’s aftershave, PURE COLOUR.

—“Under the name of abstinence, performing acts of temptation.”

For some reason, Luo Yu suddenly remembered the words on that bottle of aftershave.

“Mmph…” Luo Yu tried to pry Gu Xiaowei’s hand away.

But Gu Xiaowei leaned close to his ear and whispered, “Shh—”

That sound sent a shock through Luo Yu’s auditory nerves, straight into his brain. His entire body stiffened as if he’d been electrocuted.

He was practically trapped in Gu Xiaowei’s embrace, the other’s cheek nearly touching his. His heart raced, and Luo Yu turned his head away. As he gradually adjusted to Gu Xiaowei’s overwhelming presence, he could finally make out the sound on the other side of the fountain.

Oh my God, someone’s having a secret meeting here!

Realizing why Gu Xiaowei had pulled him back, Luo Yu’s face flushed crimson.

If something must be blamed then blame the roses for stirring such carnal thoughts.

They couldn’t just stay and eavesdrop, could they?

Luo Yu awkwardly turned his head, searching for Gu Xiaowei’s gaze. When he looked up, he realized the other had been watching him the entire time.

All of his embarrassment and surprise had been seen.

Was it his imagination, or did it seem like Gu Xiaowei was smiling? That smile blended into the shadows of the roses, but upon closer inspection, it seemed he wasn’t smiling at all.

Luo Yu lifted his hand and patted the back of Gu Xiaowei’s, signaling him to let go.

Gu Xiaowei’s hand slid down, his fingers brushing past Luo Yu’s lips. For a moment, his heartbeat surged inexplicably. Luo Yu held his breath for a long time before exhaling slowly.

The sounds from across the fountain became clearer, perhaps because the stillness had drawn them too deeply in.

Luo Yu gestured to Gu Xiaowei, signaling it was time to leave; he couldn’t stay there any longer.

After carefully taking three or four steps forward, he turned back to find Gu Xiaowei still standing there.

There was no light. He seemed to blend into the climbing roses, as if something was pulling him into the dark.

Luo Yu suddenly felt a bit panicked. He couldn’t leave him behind, so he went back and reached out to pull Gu Xiaowei.

Gu Xiaowei extended his hand and firmly grasped his wrist.

Feeling the warmth and strength from Gu Xiaowei’s palm, Luo Yu’s throat moved, the sound of his swallowing all too obvious. He could only reassure himself that the couple on the other side of the fountain were making far more noise than he was.

With his head lowered, Luo Yu carefully pulled Gu Xiaowei forward.

At first, he pulled him along completely, but Gu Xiaowei’s palm was too warm, making Luo Yu inexplicably flustered. He loosened his grip, but as his fingers slipped away, Gu Xiaowei’s fingers curled, hooking onto Luo Yu’s.

The multitude of tangled emotions tightened, and Luo Yu paused for a moment. He wanted to turn around, but was inexplicably afraid of Gu Xiaowei’s gaze.

Perhaps it was because they had stumbled upon such an awkward situation—too embarrassing to handle.

Then again, this resort was perfect for romance, so it wasn’t surprising that a couple from the crew couldn’t resist.

Who could have guessed that their evening walk would lead them to such a remote spot?

After walking for an unknown distance and no longer hearing the sounds of that couple, Luo Yu finally let out a breath.

“Why are you so nervous?” Gu Xiaowei’s voice sounded, carrying a faint huskiness that was rarely present in his usually clear tone.

“Aren’t you nervous? How embarrassing would it be if they had caught us?” Luo Yu slowly turned around and looked at him.

Gu Xiaowei tilted his head slightly, “Wouldn’t they be the ones embarrassed?”

Luo Yu remained silent, because he could vaguely sense the rebelliousness hidden beneath Gu Xiaowei’s typically reserved exterior.

He wasn’t as serious as Luo Yu had imagined.

Being stared at by those deep eyes, Luo Yu’s heart began to beat faster again.

After a long pause, Gu Xiaowei said, “Let’s go back.”

A feeling of relief surged in Luo Yu’s chest. 

“Okay.”

Luo Yu wanted to leave quickly, but he noticed that Gu Xiaowei was walking at a leisurely pace.

“Have you ever fantasized about doing something wild in a deserted place?” Gu Xiaowei’s voice came from behind him.

Even though there was some distance between them and Gu Xiaowei’s presence wasn’t physically overwhelming, Luo Yu still felt the heat creeping up his back.

“No.”

“Well, you can think about it today.”

After saying that, Gu Xiaowei walked ahead.

“I won’t.”

“Really?” Gu Xiaowei turned slightly, and Luo Yu caught a glimpse of a fleeting smile on his lips.

The sea of climbing roses grew farther and farther away, their drooping branches like heavy, wild fantasies.

No matter how much one represses their thoughts, given the chance, they will always find a way to emerge.

Luo Yu returned to his room, closing the door behind him. Through the door, he could hear the sound of Gu Xiaowei washing up.

The quieter it got, the louder the sound of water became.

Gu Xiaowei’s earlier question—”Have you ever fantasized about doing something wild in a deserted place?”—kept repeating in his mind.

His calm tone was filled with endless temptation.

Gu Xiaowei was doing this on purpose, pulling Luo Yu into a contradictory, heart-fluttering whorl of emotion.

Cautious and resistant, yet unable to suppress the desire to get closer—perhaps this was how Lu Pingfeng first imagined Wen Yuchi.

But… Luo Yu couldn’t let Lu Pingfeng lead him by the nose. That wouldn’t make him Wen Yuchi.

Luo Yu sat alone by the window, staring at the vast rose field in the distance, suddenly recalling the awkward moment he and Gu Xiaowei had stumbled upon earlier. Even though they only heard the sounds and saw nothing, his heart still raced.

It almost felt like… it had been them having a rendezvous.

Unknowingly, the sound of the water stopped.

Two knocks came at the door, causing Luo Yu’s heart to skip a beat, pulling him back to reality.

“I’m done. You can use the bathroom now.” Gu Xiaowei’s voice came from the other side of the door, polite yet carrying a tone unfamiliar to him.

Because Gu Xiaowei hadn’t called him “senior brother.” Although they’d left school for a long while now, and the title “senior brother” might seem more fitting for a school drama, it had always been a shared understanding between them—an expression of trust and closeness only they understood.

The script pages on the desk fluttered as the wind blew through the room, and at that moment, Luo Yu seemed to realize something.

Gu Xiaowei’s behavior mirrored Lu Pingfeng’s probing of Wen Yuchi.

Testing whether Wen Yuchi would doubt or fear him, whether he would confine him to a dark place and speculate wildly like everyone else.

“This guy really gets into character fast.” Luo Yu smiled wryly.

He stood up, opened the door with a calm grace, and sure enough, saw Gu Xiaowei with a towel draped over his shoulder. His damp bangs half-covered his eyes, with a drop of water clinging to one strand of hair.

He wore loose sleepwear, which accentuated his broad shoulders, making it seem as though he could envelop Luo Yu entirely.

Since Gu Xiaowei was in character, Luo Yu had to embody Wen Yuchi—calmly accepting everything about Lu Pingfeng, never retreating from his eccentricities but instead confidently stepping into Lu Pingfeng’s dark, enigmatic world.

Luo Yu raised a hand and brushed Gu Xiaowei’s damp hair aside, allowing the water drop to slide down his finger and settle in his palm.

Gu Xiaowei’s gaze was deep, giving Luo Yu the illusion that at any moment, he might move closer, step by step into his room, pushing Luo Yu back until there was no escape.

The scent of the sea salt men’s body wash lingered in the air.

In actuality, Luo Yu didn’t retreat. Instead, he softly said, “It’s still quite chilly. You should dry your hair.”

Gu Xiaowei remained still, as if searching for any hint of discomfort or hesitation in Luo Yu’s eyes, but Luo Yu’s expression was gentle and composed.

After a long moment, Gu Xiaowei quietly replied, “Okay.”

He then returned to his room but didn’t close the door, leaving it open as if signaling a candid invitation, suggesting there were no secrets between them.

Luo Yu gathered his things into a waterproof bag and left the door open as he headed to the bathroom.

The lingering steam hadn’t fully dissipated yet, and the air smelled exactly like Gu Xiaowei had, giving Luo Yu the sense that the entire space, including himself, had been marked by Gu Xiaowei’s presence.

Luo Yu turned on the hot water and casually used the same shampoo and body wash Gu Xiaowei had left behind.

Why, you ask? Because Gu Xiaowei’s stuff was good.

After all, they’d already shared sleepwear, so why fuss over sharing body wash?

After finishing his shower, Luo Yu glanced at Gu Xiaowei’s room. The door was now shut. Gu Xiaowei was very disciplined; with filming starting tomorrow, he probably went to bed early to stay in top shape.

Luo Yu entered his room, drying his hair while looking for the hairdryer. As he turned around, he noticed a piece of paper had appeared on his bedside table.

It must have been left by Gu Xiaowei.

Luo Yu picked it up, and as soon as he turned it over, his scattered thoughts seemed to tighten under an invisible force.

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

The paper showed a side profile of a person, with youthful bangs giving off an air of innocence. The person’s eyes were slightly lowered, revealing a sense of shyness and uncertainty.

Below the nose, a hand covered their mouth, and because their head was tilted forward, the back of their neck was exposed, even the delicate contours of their ear were drawn with remarkable detail.

With just a few strokes, it captured a desire—both to protect the fragility of the person in the drawing, and to recklessly destroy and possess them.

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