Chapter 39

It's late at night.

Zhou Ping'an lay in bed, eyes closed, yet he felt no sign of sleep. The city lights shone through the gaps in the undrawn curtains, casting a blurry streak of light on the ceiling. All around him was silent, save for his own breathing and heartbeat, distinctly clear in the darkness.

Some images, uncontrollably, like films from the silent era, flashed backwards frame by frame behind his tightly closed eyelids, in a messy order but with astonishing clarity.

She had just emerged from the bathroom, her hair dripping with water. The warm steam mixed with the delicate fragrance of shower gel filled the air. She wore a soft gray home dress, the neckline slightly open, revealing a small area of ​​skin flushed by the steam. As she dried her hair, she unconsciously moved closer to him, wanting to ask something.

He looked up and was met with that scene. His gaze lingered on her watery brows and dripping hair for a second or two longer than his senses would allow. An unfamiliar, almost yearning, gentleness slowly emerged from his usually calm eyes, until a few drops of icy water splashed onto the back of his hand.

The scene jumps to an earlier time.

He sat on the sofa, working, occasionally looking up from the screen, and would meet her gaze without warning. She sat not far away, watching him quietly. The eyes that could convey a myriad of charms in front of the camera now had all traces of performance gone, leaving only a pure concentration that almost saw through him.

Whenever this happened, he would subconsciously look away, as if being burned by the silence in that gaze, and an indescribable feeling would arise in his heart, a mixture of uneasiness of being spied on and a hint of secret throbbing.

Further ahead, it was a weekend afternoon.

The supermarket was brightly lit and bustling with activity. He pushed the shopping cart, following beside her. She leaned slightly over a pile of oranges, carefully selecting them. Her profile was focused and gentle, a few strands of hair falling, revealing a small sliver of fair skin on her neck.

At the time, he simply thought the scene was harmonious, so he naturally stopped and waited, without giving it much thought. Looking back now, that everyday, trivial sense of tranquility, with a strange warmth, is seared into his memory.

Time continues to flow back to an evening a few days ago.

He got home from work and the moment he opened the door, he saw her, whom he hadn't seen for a few days, sitting on the sofa. A floor lamp cast a warm halo beside her. She was curled up there, quietly reading a book, her eyelashes drooping, her expression serene.

At that moment, the familiar silence in the room, which carried the presence of her, made him feel an indescribable sense of security, as if some missing puzzle piece had been quietly filled in.

In the end, it is frozen in the most distant impression.

At Xiangbei Film City, the vast, unfinished hall hung empty, the air thick with the scent of new wood and lime. She stood alone on a high rammed earth platform, bathed in the intense beams of light used for commissioning. Her figure, tall and solitary, stood out from the grand construction scene around her, yet strangely silenced all the noise.

At that moment, he felt that she possessed a kind of power and beauty that went far beyond the scope of acting and was almost destructive. It was calm, powerful, and breathtaking.

All of these images—from near to far, from intimate retreat to initial shock—point to the same thing: a real and vivid female beauty based on extreme appearance, but reflecting a strong vitality from the inside out.

It was this beauty that made him feel an unprecedented attraction that was difficult to explain logically, and the deeper feeling of helplessness and vague fear that followed.

He suddenly opened his eyes and stared at the blurry light coming through the curtains, his brows furrowed almost imperceptibly.

He turned over, facing away from the light, closed his eyes, and tried to use his willpower to clear the images from his mind and refocus his attention on a technical parameter problem that needed to be solved tomorrow.

However, the touch, smell and images of those fragments still linger on the edge of consciousness like ghosts, stubbornly refusing to completely dissipate.

The days continue to slide forward at a seemingly steady pace, like an undercurrent in deep water, calm on the surface but surging with indescribable tension inside.

Zhou Ping'an still came home on time, and the two of them still ate at the same time, each doing their own thing in the common area, and their conversations were brief and necessary. But Liu Yifan could feel that the invisible barrier between them seemed to have grown thicker.

He seemed to spend less time at home, and even when he was in his study, his immersive concentration seemed more like a deliberate barrier.

This change was extremely subtle, and if Liu Yifan hadn't focused all her senses on him like a precision radar, it would have been almost unnoticeable. But she caught it.

When he looked at her, his eyes turned away more quickly, and when they occasionally came close to each other, the almost imperceptible tension in his body appeared more frequently and lasted longer. He seemed to be under an invisible pressure, trying harder to maintain that "normality", but it made him look more unnatural.

Finally, one Wednesday night, shortly after dinner, Zhou Ping'an didn't get up and return to his study as usual. He sat at the dining table, his fingers unconsciously tapping the table twice, his eyes fixed on the empty seat opposite, as if he was considering his words.

Liu Yifan was getting up to clean up the dishes, but when he noticed something was wrong with him, he slowed down and looked at him.

Zhou Ping'an raised his eyes and met her gaze. His eyes were as calm as usual, but there seemed to be a very difficult to detect hint of...decision hidden deep inside, or perhaps it was the relief after finding a solution.

"Teacher Liu," he began, his tone steady as if describing a project milestone adjustment. "For the next period of time, a key technical milestone in Anping has reached its critical stage and requires full follow-up. The experimental center has more centralized equipment and data, which will improve efficiency."

He paused, his gaze unwavering as he clearly stated his decision: "I may need to live at the experimental center for a month or two. During this time, I may not come back often."

The air stagnated for a moment.

Liu Yifan's fingers gripping the chopsticks tightened imperceptibly, then loosened. Her face held no trace of surprise; not even an eyelash fluttered. She simply stared at him quietly, as if digesting this purely work-related schedule change.

Deep down in his heart, a cold, sharp lightning instantly split the fog - he gave up.

This was no simple work arrangement; it was a complete withdrawal. He could no longer maintain that "normal" coexistence, could no longer cope with her increasingly sharp and silent approach, and could no longer deal with the increasingly frequent and uncontrollable waves in his heart.

He chose the method he was best at and the safest one - physical isolation, retreating into a fortress built of data and logic that he could absolutely control.

A trembling sense of victory, mixed with a cold mockery, rose from the deepest part of her heart. He was finally afraid.

Afraid of her, afraid of the vivid and complex emotional power she represented, which could not be calculated by formulas, and afraid of the dangerous attraction that might subvert his inherent order.

She won. In this silent, psychological battle over who would retreat first, she had forced him to flee.

She quickly lowered her eyelids to hide the sharp glint in her eyes, like a hunter finally seeing prey caught in a trap. When she raised her eyes again, her gaze had returned to its usual clarity and calm, even carrying a hint of just the right amount of understanding and support, typical of a partner.

"Okay, Mr. Zhou. Work is more important." Her voice was steady and gentle, without any emotion. "Just focus on your work over there and don't worry about this."

She even offered a perfectly reasonable and, for him, convincing supplement, perfectly turning his departure into a positive for the project: "It's a perfect fit. The material and state I've accumulated through my early 'experiences' and observations are almost saturated. I need some time to calm down and digest, settle, and systematically transform them into performance creation. The upcoming filming schedule in Xiangbei will be very heavy, and I need my full attention."

Her tone was relaxed and natural, as if this was just a perfectly balanced division of labor during the project. "First, focus on overcoming the technical difficulties. Once you're done with this, if the project requires it, I'll come over to 'visit' and update you."

She used the word "visit" that he often used, and easily defined this separation, which could last for several months, as an ordinary phased work adjustment within the project cycle.

Zhou Ping'an looked at her, seemingly carefully examining her reaction, confirming that she fully accepted the arrangement and that it was based on the project's interests. The slight tension in his eyes seemed to relax, and he nodded.

"Hmm." He uttered a simple syllable, indicating that a consensus had been reached on the matter. "If you need anything here, you can contact Su Ying or Huang Xiaoting directly."

"I understand. Thank you, Mr. Zhou." Liu Yifan smiled and nodded, her manner both professional and proper. She picked up the dishes, turned and walked towards the kitchen, her back to him. The smile on her face slowly faded, replaced by a deep, cold understanding and a hint of almost cruel satisfaction.

As expected... he didn't even offer a simple polite "Is it okay for you to live here alone?" or "Keep in touch."

His withdrawal was so complete and resolute, his eagerness to sever all unnecessary ties and retreat to his safe zone, and this absolute rationality, in her eyes at this moment, was the most conclusive evidence of his fear and failure.

Zhou Ping'an was incredibly efficient. The next afternoon, he simply packed a suitcase, taking away essential office supplies and a few changes of clothing. His movements were quick and effortless, as if he were on a simple errand.

Liu Yifan was sitting on the sofa in the living room reading a script at the time. He didn't stand up to help, nor did he deliberately say goodbye. But when he was pulling his suitcase through the living room, he looked up from the script and said naturally, "Mr. Zhou, everything went well."

Zhou Ping'an stopped at the door, looked back at her, and nodded: "Okay. Let's go."

The door closed gently. Without his shoes and briefcase, the entrance suddenly seemed a little more spacious.

The room fell completely silent.

Liu Yifan didn't move immediately. She continued to read the script, her eyes not fixed on the pages. She listened to the familiar engine noise from downstairs, gradually fading away until it vanished completely in the background noise of the neighborhood.

A huge, soundless silence descended. This silence was different from the quiet he had felt when he came home late from working overtime. This was a complete, declarative emptiness.

She slowly put down the script and leaned back into the sofa, her eyes sweeping across the living room that she had quietly transformed and more or less left her mark on, and finally fell on the window.

It worked.

She successfully pushed him back. With her presence, her observations, and the warmth and complexity of a living person that defied logic, she forced the seemingly invulnerable man to retreat.

This meant that the core of the "fear" she was looking for was real and strong enough to make him abandon this seemingly stable coexistence. She was infinitely close to the final answer.

The time that followed belonged to her. She needed to internalize, refine, and sublime everything she had gathered during this period—his habits, his withdrawal, his occasional tenderness and his frequent detachment, the contradictory yet alluring aura emanating from his entire being.

She will complete the final role possession on the stage in his absence. When he sees her again, she will no longer be the Liu Yifan "experiencing life", but an artist who has understood from the depths of her soul what "Bao Si" is and is ready to complete the ultimate "sacrifice".

She took out her cell phone and called Lin Na.

"Director Lin," she said in a clear and calm voice, without a trace of hesitation, "Inform the crew, I'll be back the day after tomorrow. All core scenes involving the confrontation with 'King You' can begin scheduling."

"Have you found the state?" Lin Na's voice on the other end of the phone was filled with a hint of suppressed excitement and anticipation.

Liu Yifan's gaze was still looking out the window, her eyes were deep, as if she had penetrated time and space and saw the silent royal city waiting for her return.

She exhaled lightly and replied, her tone carrying an unprecedented, tempered certainty:

"Yeah. That's enough."